


What Falls From The Sky Is Not The Rain

by Mistiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistiel/pseuds/Mistiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a split-second, Dean makes a decision that drastically changes everything he knows -- including himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Road So Far

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, since AO3 doesn't have Prologues or something, the chapters will be off. Chapter 1 is the Prologue, chapter 2 will actually be chapter 1 and so on. Just wanted to let everyone know before things got all messed up.
> 
> For the first two chapters of this fic I gleaned a lot of dialogue from the actual episode, so the die-hard fans might recognize a lot of it. I watched the episode a few times over and decided I really liked the dialogue and the way it progressed. I used about 80% of the actual dialogue from the episode along with my own, spinning what needed to be spun to make it work how I needed it. I will eventually, hopefully, be sprinkling in some season 6 plot as well, but overall this will likely wind up being a fix-it for the 6th season. Anyway, like I said before, this is my first heavy plotted fic for this series, so please be gentle. :3

_'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'_

  


The winding path they’ve traveled thus far has been a long one; filled with twists and turns, rough bumps and dips, sharp corners that nearly had them teetering on the edge of insanity. It’s been hard, and crazy, and there are so many things they would do over again if they could, and some they wouldn’t. Some they had no control over at all; their mother, Jess, their father as well as the people they could not save despite their best efforts. Sometimes it feels as if this has been a long time coming. They’ve been doing this job for too long now to think -- to know -- that nothing ever goes their way, never has, and they’d be stupid to think it might.

Hope is a powerful notion.

Everything they’ve done, everything they’ve experienced, has likely been leading up to this. All the difficult decisions they’ve made throughout their lives have brought them to this pivotal point. Dean picking Sammy up at Stanford to the vicious hell-hounds coming to claim their meaty prize at the soft stroke of midnight. Sam’s alliance, which Dean still likely holds a grudge, with the demon Ruby to the right handed grip of an Angel that pulled Dean from the fiery clutches of Hell itself. It took a long while to understand why it all happened like that, why he was brought back -- and sometimes he wonders if it all could have been avoided if he’d just been able to let Sammy go.

And then of course, there’s the Apocalypse. Yeah, no one saw that one coming either.

To say that was shocking would be a heavy understatement. Nothing, really, could have prepared the brothers for that. They still don’t know how their little ragtag bunch is going to stop it. And then there’s this shit about vessels and Michael and Lucifer -- the fucking devil, can you believe that -- and what the fuck does that have to do with them? Neither brother is going to say yes though, they know that. Not to say it hasn’t been tempting of course -- it’s what the devil does best after all -- to just say yes and get it over with, to let it end and to let those two twisted siblings just hash it all out on their own. But neither are that selfish or stupid -- at least they’d like to think so. Why it even has to be them, neither really knows for sure.

Aside from the crazy fucked up shit that keeps happening to them, Castiel is another constant in their lives, on their search to stop the Apocalypse. How many times the Angel of Thursday has saved their asses, even they’ve lost count. And yeah, by now, they’re willing to admit that Cas has grown on them a little, kinda like a friend and a lil’ like family -- course Sam would be more willing to admit to this than Dean would, stunted as he is in the art of ‘feelings’. Maybe when it’s over, before he goes back to that little fluffy-white castle in the sky, they’ll give him a proper thanks. It’s something to look forward to, a goal to have in these ever so bleak times.

And it’s looking pretty damn bleak, to be completely honest. Nothing a good fifth of Jack can’t fix, right? And really, Bobby’s pretty much a goddamn Saint to put up with their shit half the time, the only real place they feel they can call home even for a short time. How many hours already have they spent pouring over the books in Bobby’s study, looking for an answer? How many demons have they killed trying to wheedle information? Is there even a chance in Hell (hah, funny) that they can actually stop it? The other Angels on high -- dick-less fucks that they are -- don’t seem to think so. And they say as much, usually followed by thunder and lighting and glass flying everywhere -- that shit hurts you know! It’s hard getting that crap out of your hair.

But it’s come to this and now they’re about to do probably the stupidest thing possible, of course, which is pretty much the Winchester way. You’re not really a Winchester unless you’re doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous. It’s a bad idea to start with, they know that but what other option is there? But the boys are on board with it, Bobby and Cas too. And honestly, it helps having Cas in their corner with them. A little angel luck never hurt. They have nothing else left. No aces up their sleeve. Just four rings and a plan. A damn fool plan but a plan none the less, one they’ve all agreed upon even if it makes them a little uneasy and the likelihood of it blowing up in their faces is pretty fucking high -- like about one-hundred percent and counting.

Dean knows at some point he’s gotta let Sammy go, make is own choices, his own mistakes and learn from them, just as he had -- not that Dean’s ever really learned from his mistakes some people would argue -- and the reality is that Sam probably won’t either. But Sam isn’t really Sammy anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time now. Sam’s gone and grown up on him, freakishly tall as he is, and maybe it’s time he grew up too. Not like they’ve got much else to loose with the world going to hell in a hand basket.

They wonder now if all paths, no matter the decision or the outcome, would lead them to the same place in the end. None of them really understand why it has to be like this, why everyone seems hell bent on letting this happen; fate, destiny, prophecy. Words that mean fuck all to the Winchesters. Whatever happened to creating your own destiny? Following your own path? Fuck fate, fuck the angels and their goddamn prophecy. The Winchesters are going to cobble their own path, layered with their loss, their strength and their hope.

But nothing ever goes according to plan, does it?


	2. The Devil's Trill

_'there'll be peace when you are done'_

  


Dean can see the doubt and unease on his younger brother’s face, like even he thinks this might go south at any given moment, because yeah there’s always that chance. And honestly he’s had a steady sinking feeling in his gut since they entered Detroit, and he’d said as much back then but Sam was determined to plow forward, even forcing him to make that stupid ass promise -- one he realizes he won’t be able to keep. He’s all for letting Sam make his own choices and his own mistakes, but as he watches Sam -- Sammy, his little brother -- say goodbye to Bobby he realizes he just can’t let him make this one, not this time. Glancing down at the jugs of blood his decision is made before he even reaches out to grab them, hauling them up, two in each hand as he backs up and turns down the alley way blocked by the ass end of his baby, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He knows this is a bad idea .. a terrible, stupid, crazy idea but goddammit he just _can’t_ let Sam do this. He’s gone to Hell for Sam before, and he’ll do it again if that’s what it takes to keep his brother safe. ‘Sides, he’s this so called Righteous Man, ain’t he? That’s what Cas said at least; the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can end it. Or some shit like that. So it stands to reason that he just can’t let Sam go through with this, even if it means going to Hell again. For good, no get out of jail free card this time. If it saves Sam, and the world in the process, he’s gotta do it. He knows he’s got to be pretty damn suicidal to even contemplate this .. but he can’t not do it.

“This is a _freakin’ **bad**_ idea, man.” Dean mutters to himself as he walks briskly down the alley, popping the caps on the jugs before pouring them and emptying their contents on the muddy, gravely ground as he moves so there’s nothing left for Sam to use even if they find it. Which they will, he knows they will, when Sam goes round to the trunk to get his demon drink on and realizes the jugs are missing, and so is he.

Boy, will they be _pissed_.

Tossing the now empty, stained jugs away into an open trash container, he wipes his hands on the thighs of his jeans as he turns the corner and jogs the rest of the way around the block, sneaking up close to the building Lucifer’s holding himself up in. It’s a plain looking building, like some sort of townhouse and honestly he kinda thought the devil would have gone for something a little classier, bit more posh.

The Impala is parked a street or two away, backed up between two large buildings some ways down to conceal their presence, not wanting to show their hand too soon. Dean knows it’ll take a bit for them to realize what he’s got up his sleeve and he just hopes it’s enough time for him to somehow get inside and make his move. He can’t go through with it if they’re just gonna run up and stop him, can he?

Course, standing here less than fifty feet away from the devil’s hidey hole he’s starting to have second thoughts himself. He has a plan .. sort of -- okay maybe it’s not all fleshed out just yet, after all he’s always been more of a ‘shoot first, questions later’ kinda guy, but he’s got somethin’ cooking. Besides, he has the Horseman’s rings, has memorized that weird ass chant that’ll open the door to hell. He really, really hopes he’ll be able to make it that far.

“Here goes everything.” Dean mutters under his breath as he draws himself to his full height and stalks toward the building, steps full of purpose. “Alright you son of a bitch, I’m here to make a deal! You gonna come out or am I gonna have to go in there and kick your sorry ass!”

Moments later the door swings open and two men step out, eyes flickering to black as they approach.

“Hey guys.” He says, giving them a disarming grin, “Is your father home?”

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

After hugging Bobby and .. yeah, Cas really needs to learn to be more subtle, Sam turns to head back toward the trunk of the Impala, pausing and frowning when he doesn’t see Dean. He feels his heart quicken in alarm as he looks around, then back to Bobby and Castiel.

“Have you guys seen Dean?” Sam asks, trying to keep the worry from his voice, because Dean sneaking off somewhere isn’t what they need right now.

Both men look to each other but shake their head. “Probably just takin’ a breather before the big show down. This ain’t easy for him either. Why don’t you get to drinkin’ before he shows back up.” Bobby suggests, which has Sam nodding and heading back to the open trunk of the Impala. Maybe it’s a good thing Dean isn’t here. He doesn’t want his brother watching while he drinks, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he undoubtedly has already.

Sam stops at the back of the vehicle, eyes widening as he sucks in a breath of surprise, and then narrows as he glares at the empty trunk, cursing. “Goddammit Dean!”

“Sam?”

“What’d that idjit do now?”

“It’s gone.” Sam bites out, slamming the trunk shut hard, as if in spite. “The blood. All of it, it’s gone. And so is Dean.”

“That .. wasn’t the plan.” Castiel murmurs, brows furrowing in confusion.

“No shit, Cas.” His hand slamming against the trunk of the Impala. “Dammit, he always does this!” Sam exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. It isn’t that he wants to die or anything, but this is his fight. He’s made the decision to end it, all of it, once and for all. To finally do something good.

Bobby grabs the binoculars from the passenger seat of the Impala and heads toward the mouth of the alley, going on a hunch and hoping Dean isn’t going to do what they all thought he might. Scanning the street in front of the house, Bobby swears as he catches sight of Dean, two demons manhandling him inside, the door closing like a lead weight behind him.

“That stupid, suicidal son of a bitch.” Bobby curses, stalking back and throwing the binoculars inside the Chevy.

“What happened? Bobby?”

“I’ve found the blood,” Castiel announces suddenly, interrupting Bobby -- and when did he leave in the first place? “Or what is left of it, I imagine. He seems to have gotten rid of it.”

“Of course he did.” Sam says with an irritated sigh, “Bobby?”

“That boy’s gone and got himself captured is what happened. That idjit brother of yours just waltzed right into the devil’s den.”

“He what?!” Sam nearly shouts in alarm, hands bunching up at his sides. “He just .. went in there? What the hell is he thinking!?” He’s not thinking. Dean never thinks before doing. He just does it.

“Bargaining with the devil. That’s .. not very wise.” Castiel mutters, his gravelly voice rough with worry. What does Dean think he can do by talking to Lucifer?

“Yeah, I gathered that.” Sam snipes, now even more on edge that he was before, and here he didn’t think that was possible.

“That boy and his damn martyr complex. You two are a pair, you know that?” Bobby mutters, then sighs as he runs his hand down his face exhaustively.

“It’s not like we asked for this Bobby, you know that.” Sam says, glancing at Castiel for a moment which has the angel tipping his head slightly to the side in confusion. Sam just sighs and leans against the Impala.

“So what do we do now? We can’t just leave him in there, and there’s how many demons guarding the place? Even if we make it in there in time, Lucifer can just kill him.” Sam hates this. This waiting and not knowing. And goddammit, Dean, why did he have to do this? What the hell is it going to accomplish?

“It wouldn’t be the first time we had to sit tight.” Bobby says, and damn if that isn’t the truth. “Runnin’ in there and gettin’ ourselves killed won’t help Dean.”

“I will return in a moment.” Castiel announces, using what little powers he has left to disappear between one blink and the next, only to return a seconds later. “That is unfortunate. It seems I am unable to get inside.”

“So they not only have a dozen or so demons but they’ve angel-proofed the place too. Perfect.” Sam mumbles, making a bitchface as he scrubs his hands through his floppy hair.

 _‘Please God, let Dean be okay .. please don’t let him do anything stupid.’_

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

The demons holding him push the door open before roughly shoving him inside, up to the middle of the room before letting him go to stand behind him like the good little guard dogs they are. Dean fixes his jacket and the snide remark about the room's decor dies on his tongue the moment Lucifer begins to speak.

"Hello Dean, it's so nice of you to drop in." Lucifer says, staring out the window, and if he's at all surprised to see Dean he certainly doesn't show it. Just like the devil to have one hell of a poker face.

Dean stands there, stilled by the unsettling panic that grips him and yeah, this is way worse than going up against an Angel of the Lord. He doesn't know what to expect so he just stands there silently. It's probably wise not to piss Satan off, not if it keeps him from getting what he wants.

Lucifer's soundless breath frosts the window in front of him. "Sorry if it's a bit chilly," He says, drawing a finger across the cold glass. "Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite."

"Well, I'll alert the media." Dean replies humorlessly, rigid as he tries to keep his distress from surfacing. He's never felt fear like this, not even after all the things he’s fought and killed over the years. Then again this is Lucifer, and he’s not like anything he’s ever gone up against before.

The moment Lucifer turns and moves closer, Dean swallows thickly, green eyes wide. "Help me understand something, Dean." The Devil says, "I mean, stomping through my front door is .. a tad suicidal, don't you think?"

And really, Dean can't argue with that. Not his brightest moment ever, obviously, as he looks away, unable to look the man-demon-devil in the face, as if afraid Lucifer might be able to see right through him, into him. Probably has already, sneaky bastard.

"I ain't here to fight you." Dean says, and how he even manages to sound so calm is completely beyond him.

"No? Then why are you?"

"I wanna make a deal." Dean says, and here it goes. "Just between you and me."

"Excuse me?" Lucifer replies, as if he’s mistaken Dean. Well if this isn’t a little surprising. And really, he just wants to laugh. Because that's what it is. Laughable. Dean Winchester, wanting to make a deal with the Devil himself.

Dean takes a quick, steadying breath before continuing, "You heard me, a deal. You get me for Sam, and you leave him alone. For good."

Lucifer raises a brow, obviously fascinated by this little turn of events. "You're serious?"

"Deal of the century, man. What's a better way to say fuck you to God than taking over Michael's vessel. You get me and Sam gets to go free." Dean tries, pushing, hoping it will appeal to Lucifer, because right now that's all he's got.

Lucifer regards him for a moment before speaking. "Can we please stop the telenovela? I know you have the rings, Dean." He says, giving the man before him a knowing look.

Dean feels his blood run cold, his heart somersaulting in his chest but does his damnedest not to let it show. "I don't know what you're talking about." The words are out of his mouth and he knows Lucifer knows he’s bluffing now.

"The Horseman's rings?" Lucifer says as he glances upward as if to say 'are you really that dumb' before continuing, "The magic keys to my cage? Ring a bell?" He asks as he drifts closer, causing Dean to stiffen slightly in place, but stubbornly refuses to move.

Lucifer then circles Dean like the prey he is and he's trying so damn hard not to just lose it with the Devil this close, his eyes shutting momentarily as he tries to steady himself. He knows Lucifer at least finds the idea appealing which he knows is the only reason he’s still alive at this point, and goddammit he hadn't thought Lucifer knew about the rings until now. Well, there went his element of surprise.

"It's okay, I'm not mad." He says, almost sounding amused, placating and Dean turns to face him, keen to keep the devil in his sights.

"So are we gonna deal or what?" Dean asks, becoming antsy with the way Lucifer seems to drag it out. "Me for Sam, and Sammy gets to go free."

"I can't say I'm not intrigued." Lucifer starts, "A wrestling match inside your noggin .. I like the idea. Just you and me, one round, no tricks."

"Just us, pal. And I'm a lot tougher than I look, trust me." Dean replies gruffly, straightening as his hands fist at his sides while he stares Lucifer down as calmly as he’s able despite being wholly terrified.

"You win, you jump in the hole. I win .." The devil pauses, head cocking to the side as he smirks. "Well, then I win."

"I know the stakes." Dean bites out, his expression hardening. "Do we have a deal?" This is it, he tells himself. Watching the Devil, waiting.

Lucifer regards the vessel in front of him silently, head tilting as he watches, the smirk settling into a disarming smile. "I suppose we do. Shall we?"

A bright light encompasses the room and Dean's breath hitches as he closes his eyes and shields his face with his arms. The light dims and his body stiffens, convulses and suddenly he can feel it. Him. He can feel Lucifer's presence in his mind, his body, the way it attacks him, ripping at his mind and soul -- the soul that Cas ripped from hell itself, and he’s sorry Cas, so damn sorry -- trying to tear him apart to make room for himself. Dean screams, a loud agonizing sound, and fights it with everything he's got, all the strength, power and will he has and for one brief moment he's got control of himself again. His breath is heavy and his chest feels tight, head spinning, as his shaking hand dives into the pocket of his coat and he pulls the cluster of rings from it's confines.

But it's not enough, not even close.

Another choked sound escapes him as he drops hard to his knees unable to stay standing against the onslaught, the rings clanking to the wooden floor as he looses his grip, his hands rushing to clutch at his head as he falls to the ground completely, writhing in pain as if suffering from some terrible seizure. His head is a throbbing, pounding mess, feeling as if it could bounce right off his shoulders from the pressure alone, teary eyes closed so tight stars burst behind is eyelids. But he's fighting, god he's fighting him the best he knows how and all he can do to keep from passing out is praypraypray to godcastielgodgod _cascascas_. To anyone that will hear him.

And then everything goes silent.

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

“That’s it, I can’t keep waiting anymore. I’m going in.” Sam announces, unable to sit still as he pushes himself away from the Impala to stalk down the alley toward the building his brother had disappeared into.

“Sam, that’s not wise.” Castiel says, though he moves to follow regardless, lips upturning just slightly at the corners as he hears Bobby mutter ‘idjits’ behind him, his footfalls telling. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. Castiel worries for Dean more than he knows he should, that at times he’s become far too invested in the older Winchester. Something he’s been told many times as of late.

“You know what, Cas. I don’t give a shit if it’s ‘wise’ or not.” Sam air-quotes the word with his fingers before continuing. “It wasn’t ‘wise’ for Dean to go in there but he did it anyway, and I’m not gonna wait while he gets himself killed!”

“I said it wasn’t wise, Sam, not that we shouldn’t go in.” The Angel chides gently, eying him as he passes the younger Winchester.

“Oh.” Is all he can say to that, feeling foolish suddenly for thinking that Castiel _wouldn’t_ want to save Dean too.

The trio pauses just shy of the curb when the bright light fills the room above and for a moment it looks as if it might blow out the windows and even Castiel can feel the power from it, so much that it dissolves the wards surrounding the building that keep him from entering. Sam’s heart stops cold for a beat and he knows. He knows what that light means and god, oh god, Dean can’t be that stupid.

“No, Dean!” Sam yells as he rushes forward, yanking open the door and pushing through. Castiel is suddenly in front of him, using the last of his wicked angel mojo on the demons, killing them with little trouble and leaving a trail of bodies up the stairs from where the light came.

It’s taking too long, way too long to get through these demons and fuck, Sam thought there’s supposed to be only a dozen or so? Bobby is behind him, taking out a few stragglers on his way up, following close. A pained scream causes them all to still for what seems like forever.

“Dean!” Sam shouts as he pushes past Castiel who is shoving his hand into a demon’s face, blasting the black demonic smoke from the man’s body and letting him slump to the floor before following, hot on Sam’s heels and the urgency Castiel suddenly feels is overwhelming. ‘ _Dean._ ’

Sam is the first to get to the door which he shoves it open without hesitation, barreling inside with Castiel and Bobby right behind him. The room is empty now, save for the bodies of two more demons and Lucifer’s previous vessel. Moving further in, Sam looks around for Dean and it’s only then that he spots the rings on the floor, bending to scoop them up.

“Dean .. do you think he ..?” Sam asks, his voice is soft and hesitant, hoping just maybe Dean has managed to take Lucifer down with him.

“No.” Castiel replies, confident as he looks from the rings in Sam’s hand to meet his eyes. “Dean is still on Earth, with Lucifer.” Castiel hates how sure he sounds, wishes it wasn’t true, but knows it is. He can still feel Dean like a heartbeat deep in his chest.

Sam let’s out a shaky “Oh” before pocketing the rings. He can’t believe Dean did something like that, was stupid enough to give his life for him. Again. God, what did he think he would accomplish by doing that? He can’t imagine what Dean must be going through, with Lucifer in his head, already filled with thoughts and memories from his time in Hell. Sam pushes the heel of his hands to his eyes and breathes in shallowly before turning and heading for the door.

“Let’s go.”

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

“ _Reports are flooding in -- a 7.6 earthquake in Portland, 8.1 in Boston, More in Hong Kong, Berlin, and Tehran. The U.S.G.S. Has no explanation but says to expect a six-figure death toll._ ” The anchorwoman says, and more scrolls across the bottom of the screen on the televisions that line the shelves of the Motown Electronics storefront.

"It's starting." Castiel says, voice gravelly and even as he looks away from the televisions, casting Sam look as he passes.

"Yeah, I kinda got that Cas, thanks for that astute observation." The younger man snaps, making a bitchface as he cards his hands through his hair.

"You don't have to be mean."

"I - Sorry ..” Sam mutters, then asks, “What do we do now?" And suddenly he’s at a loss as he looks over to Castiel, hoping for some guidance. He is an Angel after all. Dean’s Angel.

"I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol ... just wait for the inevitable blast wave." Castiel sounds so defeated when he says that, like it's the only real option they have left anymore and Sam hates it, because that’s not what an Angel of the Lord is supposed to sound like. But right now it’s all Castiel can think to do because he’s failed Dean, and knowing that produces an ache deep in his chest. To be honest, drinking sounds like a really good idea right now.

"That's not .. no, how do we stop it?" Sam shakes his head, watching as the Angel turns to look at him.

"We don't." He replies coolly, and how messed up have things gotten that even Castiel thinks it's a lost cause? "Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field. And the battle of Armageddon begins."

Sam can't help the way he notices that Castiel says 'Lucifer' and not 'Dean' and wonders if it hurts Cas as much as it hurts him to acknowledge that. It does. It hurts Castiel like a knife in the chest where his heart should be.

"Okay .. well, where is it? This chosen field?" If they know where it is then surely there's a way to get Dean back and send Lucifer back to hell. It's the only thing Sam has left to believe in anymore.

"I don't know .." Castiel replies, sounding exasperated and tired, voice heavy.

"There's gotta be something, Cas. Come on."

"I'm sorry, Sam .." It's probably the only time Sam's ever really seen such emotion coming from Castiel, and he can feel his own eyes tearing up with the words. "This is over."

He lets out a trembling breath and shakes his head. "No, I don't believe that. There's gotta be a way." Sam argues, turning to Bobby for help. "Bobby?" He asks, pausing when the older man doesn't reply right away. "Bobby?" He repeats, voice watery.

"There was never much hope to begin with." The man says solemnly, "I don't know what else to do." Frustration wells up inside of him so much that Sam just wants to scream. He can't give up, he just can't. Dean wouldn't give up if it were him. He would keep trying and trying until he had nothing left to give. And then he would try again.

Sam runs his hand through his hair again and stalks off for the Impala. "I just need some time." He says by way of explanation when they try to stop him.

Castiel watches Sam stalk off, head tilting as he finds it strange that he doesn’t feel the need to follow him as he does when it’s Dean who’s walking away from him. But that only serves as a reminder of what’s been lost, what they might never be able to get back. It pains him deeply to know he’s failed Dean in the most terrible way possible. How could he not see this coming? Castiel knows Dean, had held his very soul against his breast while clawing his way through the depths of Hell, had painstakingly repaired and breathed life into his once cold and still body. He should have predicted this. The Angel huffs softly as he finally turns away. Neglecting to realize this was just another way in which Castiel has failed Dean. Again.

When Sam reaches the vehicle he slides in, closes the door gently -- Dean would have a fit if he were to scratch his baby -- and leans back against the leather seat, shutting his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He waits a few moments to calm himself before pulling out his cellphone and scrolling through his contact list, pausing on Dean’s name before moving past it. Bringing the phone to his ear he waits for the call to connect. This was quite possibly his last hope.

The line picks up. "Hey--Hey, Chuck, it's Sam."

A pause. "S-Sam? Sam, not Dean? Why is it not Dean? What did Dean do?" Sam can practically hear the man going rigid with fear over the line.

"Dean .. he .. Dean made a deal with Lucifer." The line goes quiet for a moment and he thinks that the call might've gotten disconnected before Chuck starts up again along with the faint sound of papers shuffling in the background.

"No .. no no no, that's not how it was supposed to happen! That's not how I saw it! Oh god, they're gonna kill me! They're gonna make mince meat out of me just like they did to your angel friend!" Chuck is nearly hysterical, can practically hear him pacing, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose to keep himself from hanging up.

"Chuck, calm down, I need -- Chuck .. Chuck!" Sam shouts, wincing slightly as he hadn't wanted to yell in the first place, but god, he didn't need this right now.

"Right .. right. This isn't why you called ... why did you call?"

Finally we’re getting somewhere. "Do you know where the battle happens? If we know .." Sam trails off, letting the words hang.

A drawn out sigh echoes over the line. "The angels are keeping it top secret. Very hush hush."

Of course they are he thinks to himself, sighing. "But I saw it anyway, perks of being a prophet," Chuck continues, sounding smug and for the first time that night Sam cracks a smile.

"Okay, so .. is there a time or place or something you can give me?"

"High noon, a place called Stull Cemetery."

"Stull Cemetery?" Sam asks, frowning, eyes searching as he tries to remember why that sounds familiar. "Isn't .. that's an old graveyard outside of Lawrence .. why there?"

"I don't know .." Chuck replies and he can almost hear the shrug, "It's gotta end where it started I guess .."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense ... is there any other way to stop it?" He hates how hopeful he sounds right now, but he's gotten this much information, and can't help but hope for more.

"Besides the rings? No, I'm sorry Sam."

Damn. "Do you know what's gonna happen next?"

"I wish that I did .. but I just .. I honestly don't know yet." Chuck says quietly, sounding upset and remorseful.

"No, it's okay .. you've been a big help, thanks Chuck." Sam says in return before ending the call and pocketing his phone. At least now he has a time and a place.

After a few moments, Sam gets out of the car and heads to the trunk, popping it open and rustling through their arsenal of weapons when he hears Castiel and Bobby approach.

"You goin' some place, son?"

Sam looks over at Bobby and offers a minute shrug, and the saddened expression on Castiel's face makes him look down, like he knows exactly where he’s going. He probably does.

"You're gonna do somethin' stupid .. you got that look. Just like your fool brother." Bobby says, sounding more exhausted than exasperated with him.

Lifting his head, Sam looks as helpless as he feels. "I'm gonna talk to him, to Dean, if he's still in there."

"You just don't give up .."

"It's Dean! I can't not do anything Bobby, you know that. He'd do the same for me, I know he would!"

"You won't be able to reach him," Castiel says, stepping forward a fraction. "Not here, and not on the battlefield."

"It's the only thing I can think of to do! I've gotta try Cas, and I know if you were me, you would too." And he knows it's true. Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell, has saved him time and again. There’s likely nothing Castiel wouldn’t do for Dean.

"I just want you to understand." The Angel starts, "The only thing you're going to see out there is Michael killing your brother." And Sam can see the pain in Castiel's vivid blue eyes, knows that this isn't what he wants either.

"Then at least he won't be alone." His voice is a little shaky as he says it. "Dean's been there for me, my whole life. This time it's my turn to be there for him." That’s the plan at least, if Dean’s still in there.

The look Castiel gives him makes his chest ache, as if he wishes it could be him in Sam's place, being there for Dean. He gives them one long, last look before turning and getting into the Impala.

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

It’s an annoying sound, the caw-cawing coming from his left. “Fuckin’ birds,” Dean mutters as he sits up and rubs at the back of his head and neck. His eyes squint against the bright light, the grey clouds thankfully hiding the full rays of the sun. It takes a moment for him to get up, his body feeling stiff and his legs shaky when he does. Good god, did he fall asleep out here or somethin’? No wonder he’s stiff as hell.

Hell. Lucifer.

Yeah, that’s right, he remembers now. Dean looks down at himself; his hands that are now flared out in front of him, fingers spread, his gaze wandering down his front to his legs and feet, brow raising as he then runs his hands through his short hair and down over his face. Well, he certainly looks the same as he did before. Despite the fact he _knows_ there’s a difference, he just can’t tell what it is just yet. Aside from being alive, and sane, obviously.

His head doesn’t hurt anymore, which is really the first thing he’s noticed aside from how quiet it is in there, like it’s just him. The next thing is that he feels lighter some how, as if the weight that has been burdening his soul has been lifted and carried away. Wait, does he even still _have_ a soul? He needs to talk to Cas about that. The sudden thought of Cas makes his lips upturn a little. He’s going to miss Cas, he realizes, and the intensity of it makes his chest ache in a way it hasn’t since he first lost Sam.

The flight of a cawing crow breaks him from his thoughts, and it’s then that he finally takes a good look around, eyes catching on the headstones, row after row, some broken down and some still whole. “I’m in a goddamn boneyard?” He mutters to himself, confused and frowning. Scanning the area he finds the wrought rusted gate that hangs open and the words imprinted on the arch above it.

“Stull Cemetery, huh?” Dean frowns, head tilting in thought as he tries to remember just where it’s located. He knows it sounds familiar enough. “Well, guess I can’t say I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

The telltale rustle of fabric and a disturbance in the air he can now feel alerts him of the Archangel’s presence, causing him to turn. Michael stands before him, wearing Adam like a goddamn meatsuit, the poor kid didn’t ask to be dragged into this mess. His green eyes flicker over the teenager, a frown marring his face. And here he thought he’d be able to slip away before anyone noticed. Obviously that is not the case today and damn if his life just keeps getting better.

Michael regards him impassively, eyes narrow and searching -- for what, Dean hasn’t the foggiest. The Archangel suddenly inclines his head ever so slightly in greeting, as if finally finding what he’s been looking for.

"Hello brother .. it's been too long."


	3. Don't Get Lost In Heaven

_i cried out heaven save me, but i'm down to one last breath_

  


Dean raises a brow at the seemingly smooth greeting. "I ain't your brother, pal." Except that, uh, he kinda is -- well Adam's brother technically. But that's not Adam in there right now, so _that_ isn't his brother -- half-brother .. whatever.

Michael mimics the expression, his face carefully blank. "Aren't you?"

The question is meant to sound simple enough but the weight of it makes Dean pause as if he's not really sure anymore. "No." He replies firmly, "And I don't like whatever it is you're implying." Because he's not going to think about that right now, or just how damn strange this feels -- how weird he himself feels with the devil floatin' around inside his head -- who is strangely silent he notices. He's here -- they're here, and he's still planning on stopping the Apocalypse .. somehow.

"And what is it do you think I'm implying, brother?"

"You know what, we're done talkin' about this. That isn't why you're here." Keep it together, don't panic and get back on track, they need to get back on track.

Michael let's out a quiet huff, lips quirking. "You're right." The Archangel reaches behind him and pulls forth a silver short sword, one that Dean keenly recognizes. "Are you ready?"

"Whoa, whoa there Sparky put the pigsticker down, will ya?" Dean exclaims, taking a step back but removes Ruby's knife from behind him where he'd stuck it into his belt loop, holding it tightly in hand. It may not as powerful as an Archangel's sword, sure, but at least he won't be going in blind. "We don't gotta do this .. you know that, right?"

"This is how it must be, you know that." Michael says, frowning. "I am destined to kill you."

"If it's all the same to you, I'm kinda fond of living, myself." Dean says, moving back to put more distance between them. "Look, I don't wanna fight."

".. Me either."

"Then why are we?" A sudden, sharp jagged pain shoots through his head, and staggering back a step Dean rubs at his throbbing temple, scowling at Michael as the Archangel watches him with barely restrained annoyance.

"Oh, you know why!" Michael loudly snaps, "I have no choice, after what you did."

"What I did?" He asks, wincing as the throbbing gets worse. "Whatever I -- _He_ did, it's not my fault!" Fuck, his head was splitting, and now there were little white spots dancing in corner of his vision, which keeps getting blurrier and blurrier by the second.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Confusion coats his words as Michael watches Dean struggle with himself, his eyes flitting over the older man's slightly hunched body, and the pain that moves over his face.

"I don't know!" Dean shouts and the pain is almost blinding, making it hard to breath, when suddenly it's gone. The unexpected recession causes his breath to hitch in surprise, and after shaking his head and blinking his eyes a few times he straightens. "Well that fuckin' sucked."

"You're not the same." Michael says, as if suddenly coming to this conclusion, like something finally clicks into place.

"No shit Sherlock, what do you think I've been trying to tell you." Dean bites back, his grip on the knife tightening, the sudden pain-fest he just went through putting him on edge.

Michael shakes his head, "It doesn’t matter. I'll ask you once more. Are you ready?" He asks, the short sword twitching, like he’s really looking forward to shoving that thing in his chest.

"No." Dean replies defiantly. "Look, I don't wanna fight you, you don't -- no, okay, you probably really _do_ wanna kill me. But the point is, we don't have to do this. We can walk away, just like that. You go your way, I go mine." He gives Michael a small disarming grin, trying to seem appealing. "Not a bad deal, right?" He pauses and his expression scrunches up in a mirror of one of Sam's epic bitchfaces. "Okay, bad choice of words there, I admit. But I'm serious, we can just walk away, right now."

Michael pauses a moment and looks as if he might actually consider Dean's words before he's shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I-I can't do that. I'm a good son, and I have my orders."

"Fuck your orders!" Dean snaps, "I was a damn good son too, but that doesn't mean I didn't have my share of breaking the rules. And these orders? Are bullshit, and you know it!"

The Archangel scoffs and scowls, "What, you think I'm gonna rebel? Now? I'm not like you."

"Michael .." The growl of his name is low and deep as Dean stands there glaring the younger man down. He can feel the pressure in his head again, like before, but this time he's prepared for the onslaught. The pain is just as intense as it was before, reminiscent of the moment Lucifer took over, he realizes suddenly.

Michael carries no sympathy for him, apparently. "You know, you haven't changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me -- all of us -- And you made our father leave."

"No one made dad do shit!" He bites out through the sharp, unending pain, the hand gripping the knife pressing into his temple in a vain attempt to stop the pain. It's wrong, all wrong. Everything's messed up -- thoughts and words and memories jumbling together in his head. Mine - His - Theirs - _Ours_. Then like before, the pain suddenly recedes and his head is clear again, vision bright and clean. Dean shakes his head and fixes his eyes on Michael again.

Michael watches, curious and intrigued, at the being standing before him that is his brother yet at the same time not. He opens his mouth, pauses but then shakes his head. "You're a monster, Luci---"

"Don't!" Dean grounds out darkly, "Don’t you dare call me that." His green eyes narrow at the Archangel, anger bubbling just under the surface. "I am _not_ Lucifer. Don't make me tell you again."

The silence that follows the threat is a short one as the familiar, telltale rumble of the Impala disturbs it. Dean's head swivels at the sound and can't contain the surprise as he sees his baby rolling through the open rusty gate. It isn't until the Chevy gets closer that he can make out the lyrics to 'Ramble On' blaring out the open windows. Zeppelin, his favourite. It figures that it would take him bargaining with the devil for Sam to finally give good music -- real music a try. His brother's name is a whisper on his lips as he watches Sam get out of the car. ' _Sammy._ '

The two watch as Sam stalks over to where they stand, stopping at least ten feet away and looks between them. "Sorry to interrupt, but I want to talk to my brother." His eyes flicker to Dean, then to Michael and back again. "My real brother."

Dean can't help the grin that crosses his face. "Well damn, I wasn't expecting the cavalry." He jokes, but sobers quickly at the look Sam gives him. He really never thought he'd get to see his baby brother again. "Hey Sammy."

Sam stiffens and glares balefully at Dean. "No, you don't get to call me that. Only my brother can call me that, now let me talk to him."

A baffled expression crosses his face as he glances to Michael for a moment, who is being strangely silent, as if he might smite Sam for interrupting. "Sam, what're you talking about, I _am_ your brother." A pause, "Sammy, I can't believe you can't tell it's me. C'mon man, you know me better than anyone."

The glare falters a little. Hope. ".. Dean?" Jesus, his voice sounds so small and lost that it makes his chest ache and it's like he's back to being his little ten-year old Sammy again.

"That's not your brother anymore, Sam."

"Shut the fuck up, Michael!" Dean swears, then turns back to Sam, "Don't listen to him, Sammy, it's me I swear."

But Sam closes back up again, his face hardening. "No, he's right .. you're the Devil -- a demon. And demons lie." There's a short pause as Sam tries to figure out what he wants to say next, tries the words out in his head before speaking them out loud. "Fine, Dean's gone. I'll just talk to you instead. I want to make a deal."

The hand holding the knife twitches, clenching over the hilt. "What? Sam you don't -- you can't make a deal with me." He says incredulously.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Lucifer. You wanted me, so here I am."

Dean glances away at the name. That's not who he is, why can't they see that? "I mean it Sam, I ain't making any deals with you."

"You're no longer a vessel, Sam. You got no right to be here." Michael interjects, getting impatient as his grip loosens and tightens over the hilt of the sword, as if Sam being here is trying him.

"Yes I am, and I do. I'm still Lucifer's vessel, and I don't want Dean going down like this, again, not for me. Just -- look, just give me five minutes to talk to him, please." Sam pleads, and Dean doesn't understand why Sam wants this; to throw away the life he gave him. Sure, that'd been the original plan, but he couldn't let Sam go through with it. And now here he is wanting to die. Damn, they really are a match, aren't they?

“You are no longer a part of this story.” Michael growls out in annoyance as he points the sword at Sam, causing the younger Winchester to step back.

“Hey, ass-butt!”

Their collective heads turn to see Castiel standing there with a lit bottle which he wastes no time in throwing at Michael, who goes up in flames the moment it strikes, causing Dean and Sam to step back away from the blast. Michael screams in unrestrained rage before disappearing.

“Dude, did you just molotov an Archangel?” Dean asks with a grin, and yeah he's just a little impressed, “Nice throw, you should try out for the big leagues sometime.” A pause, and then, “But seriously, assbutt?”

Castiel gives him a strange but exasperated look, “He'll be back -- and upset -- but you got your five minutes.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam responds, turning back to Dean, but before he can utter a word Dean shakes his head already knowing what he's going to say.

“I’m not making a deal with you, Sam. I’m not taking this back, I can’t.”

“Why not? You made the deal with Dean!”

“Dammit, Sam, stop talking about me like I’m someone else! I _am_ him!” Dean snaps in frustration, hand carding through his short hair as he turns in circles, restless.

“Like hell, you’re just the devil wearing his skin!”

“Jesus, I cannot believe this is how I’m spending my last five minutes.” He mutters to himself, then pauses in his movement to look at Castiel and his expression brightens slightly. If anyone can tell it's him it's gonna be Cas, he just knows it. “Cas, man, c’mon you can tell it’s me, right?” He asks, hating how pleading his voice sounds, but he doesn't have much time left.

“Don’t listen to him Cas, he’s just trying to bide time until Michael gets back.” Sam says, shifting backward until he’s closer to Castiel than he is to Dean, and yeah that kinda hurts.

“Cas .. hey, you can see into my soul, right? So just look and see, c’mon. It’s me, Cas.” Dean wonders how this went from ‘ _I’m doing this to save Sammy’_ to ‘ _I really don’t wanna die today’_. His green eyes are filled with emotion he can’t name and won’t ever say as he looks pleadingly in Castiel’s vivid blue eyes. Cas'll save him, Cas always saves him.

Right?

And the thing is -- the thing is Castiel _can_ see Dean’s soul. It’s beautifully bright and warm, everything he remembers it being when he pulled it from Hell the first time. But it’s also frayed around the edges, darkening with Lucifer’s taint, though it only extends so far, not all encompassing as he thinks it should be and that’s .. really very strange. It’s almost like …

But the thoughts cease abruptly because suddenly Sam’s tossing the rings onto the ground somewhere behind Dean and chanting; ‘ _bvtmon tabges babalon_ ’ and the door to Lucifer’s cage is opening, the ground shaking and collapsing in on itself. Dean staggers forward to scramble away from the edge and the suction itself is almost enough to pull him in. Sam and Castiel are only a few feet away.

His shocked gaze snaps to Sam’s face and sees his brother’s cold expression looking back at him. ‘ _Jesus, Sammy .._ ’ His eyes sting, blurry with tears because .. fuck, man. But he has little time to sort through those emotions because Michael is suddenly bearing down on him and his knife clashes with the short sword that barely grazes his shoulder. Michael pushes forward, hard and unrelenting, and Dean hisses when the blade slides and cuts into his bicep and it’s pain like nothing he’s ever felt before. Like his very life is bleeding out through that wound alone. With more strength than he thinks he has, Dean twists one hand free from the knife’s hilt, having held it with both hands to keep Michael from full out ganking him, and quickly grabs the Archangel’s arm, pulling roughly and causing the younger man to pivot off balance. Using the momentum Dean turns the knife and shoves it hard into Michael’s chest. He knows it won’t kill him but hey, wounding him is better than nothing at this point and if he's gonna go down it ain't gonna be without a fight. Michael stumbles from the hit -- like he didn’t think Dean had the gall to do something so stupid and futile, but it doesn’t stop the surprise that flickers over his young face as his body tilts and reaches out.

And then suddenly everything is moving entirely too fast.

Michael is too close to the edge of the cage's door, his foot slips when he moves and suddenly he’s careening backward into the void. His hands reach out and grab the back of Dean’s jacket in a last ditch effort to stop himself from falling, but all he does is wrench the older man back with him. Dean’s eyes are wide, bright green and frightened as he’s being tugged backward, his feet catching on clumps of dirt. Sam and Cas are right there and instinctively his hands outstretch in front of him; ‘ _ohgodhelpme_ ’. The last thing Dean sees is Cas reaching out for him.

‘ _Cas!_ ’

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

“No, don’t!” Sam shouts as he grasps the back of Castiel’s trenchcoat and hauls him backward before he goes pitching himself into the hole after Dean. The move had surprised even Castiel himself, but when he saw Dean reaching out to him, _for him_ , he couldn’t not try to save him even if he knew it was foolish to do so in the first place. He always does foolish things when it comes to Dean -- and Sam to a lesser extent if only for Dean’s sake. It’s always for Dean.

“Jesus, Cas, we can’t go losing you too.” Sam says, his voice quieter now, nearly quivering with adrenaline.

“Dean --” He shakes his head.

“No, Cas, that wasn’t Dean, you know that.” A soft chiding tone.

“It was Dean, Sam.” Castiel says slowly, looking over to Sam with a small reprimanding glare. “I saw it, his soul, and deep within it. That was him. I do not .. understand why, or how it was even possible -- it shouldn’t _be_ possible ..”

“I -- What are you ..? You’re lying ..” But when has Cas ever lied to them, especially when it concerns Dean? “That .. that was Dean? You’re sure?” asks Sam, voice small and full on trembling now. “Oh-oh god, that whole time .. when he .. and I didn’t ..”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Sam. Any other time it would have been true. I do not understand what has happened nor the nature of their deal.” Though Castiel is sure it has nothing to do with the terms of Dean’s agreement with Lucifer, whatever it was.

The Apocalypse has been averted, the one thing that’s carried them through the past few months, the only thing that’s been on their mind for even longer. And now it's over. “What .. do we do now?”

Castiel is quiet for a moment as if contemplating the question himself. “.. Live.”

Sam snorts quietly as he turns away from the large hole, now filled and packed like a freshly dug grave. Dean’s grave. “And .. and how the hell am I supposed to do that Cas? Dean’s gone, _gone_! And I didn’t believe him, even when he _begged_ me too! I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye! To my brother! And I have to live with that!” Sam yells, shaking, tears falling unchecked.

“I’m very sorry, Sam.” And he is, truly.

He opens his mouth to snap a retort but stops suddenly when he realizes that getting mad at Cas isn’t going to solve anything, it's not going to bring Dean back. Nothing is. In fact it’ll probably just make him feel even shittier than he already does. Instead he sighs dejectedly when he sees the Angel’s hopeless expression. Castiel looks vaguely as if he’s about to cry, his blue eyes sad and watery and Sam wonders vaguely if Angels can even shed tears. They must, because he watches as Castiel quickly turns away, his arm moving discreetly across his face, near his eyes. Sam makes a split decision then, but first he walks over to where he’d tossed the rings and picks them up, pocketing them, then walks over to where Castiel is standing, watching him curiously, head tipped to one side. The rings, he thinks, he’ll leave at Bobby’s for safe keeping. But this .. this he thinks it’s okay to part with. He'd meant to give it back when Dean calmed down.

“Hey Cas?” He asks, gaining the man’s attention, then digs his hand into his opposite jean pocket to pull something out which he then holds out in front of Castiel. “I want you to have this .. I think .. Dean would like it if you took care of it for him."

Castiel’s brow raises in interest but when Sam unfurls his large hand his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Within the cradle of his palm is the little amulet Dean had tossed away months back.

“I picked it up out of the trash bin before we left. He was just angry, I think.” Sam explains, shrugging, and then lifts his hand in a gesture for Castiel to take it.

“Are you .. certain?” Castiel asks, but takes it regardless when Sam nods, slender fingers delicately plucking the necklace from his hand. He holds it in his palm, feeling it’s slight weight against his skin and smiles just a little. “Thank you very much, Sam.” Castiel looks at it for a moment longer before tucking it away within his suit’s breast pocket. “I will treasure it with utmost care.”

It’s an awkward moment, and Sam stands there, hands deep in his pockets now as he looks around. He’s trying very, very hard not to think about what just happened, but he can’t not. There’s an ache deep in his chest, like half of his heart has been ripped out -- no, not just his heart but his soul too. Dean took it with him when he fell into the cage. He knows it’s not going to be easy, he’s got no illusions to that, because this is the rest of his life. Before there had been hope; a deal, some weird voodoo magic, Castiel. But now there’s just forever, without Dean.

“So uhm. “Sam starts, clearing his throat and blinking away the tears that begin to form, the sound startling Castiel from his thoughts who looks up, brow quirked in questioning response. “I’m meeting up with Bobby once I leave here .. we’re gonna have some drinks and stuff, you know? Imbibe copious quantities of alcohol ..” Sam grins a little at his own joke, something Cas had said before. “Do you .. wanna come with? Kinda earned it, you know.”

Castiel gifts him with a tiny smile and a shake of his head. “Thank you, but I must decline the offer. I will return to Heaven. With Michael gone there will be chaos and questions needing answers. I must be there to provide.”

“Oh, okay, sure. Yeah, just .. good luck.” His feet shuffle the damp ground awkwardly. “I know you’ll be busy and stuff up there but, uh, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

A strange sort of look crosses the Angel’s face before he seems to understand. “Aah, yes. I shall visit when I am able.”

The answer seems to be one Sam was looking for, it makes him smile a little and nod. “Okay, I’ll see you around I guess.” Hovering for a few moments, Sam gives Castiel a friendly clap on the shoulder, a squeeze, then walks past him toward the Impala. His hand touches and runs over the hood of the vehicle when he reaches it, almost reverently, following along to the door until it drifts down to the handle which he grips, pulls it open and slides into the driver seat before closing it once he’s inside. Turning the engine over, Led Zeppelin once again blares from the Chevy’s speakers and as he backs out of the cemetery to turn onto the main road he turns the volume up.

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

It’s dusk when Castiel returns to Stull, the sun setting over the horizon in bursts of pinks, purples and blues that scatter across the slowly darkening sky. He stands at the edge of the browned, turned over ground, looking very much like a freshly filled grave -- and he supposes in some ways that’s exactly what it is. His hands are in the pockets of his overcoat as he watches the ground, a faraway look in his true blue eyes.

“I am very sorry, Dean, that I was not able to save you.” _This time._ His mind supplies bitterly and still he can see Dean’s terrified green eyes and the hands that reach out for him, begging and pleading, _savemecas_. He closes his eyes against the memory, lips pressing into a thin line as he turns his head away, unable to look at the not-really-grave site. But it doesn’t stop the memory from replaying in his head, over and over again.

Failing Dean, like this, isn’t something he thinks he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for. He doesn’t even understand how Father has managed to forgive him, let alone restore his Grace to what it once was, if not better. It had come as a surprise that it happened, once he’d returned to Heaven. He doesn’t understand the point of it, really, when he has nothing left to protect. The one person -- beautiful, challenging, loyal, unattainable -- he was meant to protect, to guide toward salvation, is no longer on this Earth.

“I don’t understand.” He mutters, his voice deep and gravelly, brows furrowed in slight confusion. He doesn’t understand _why_. Why Dean? Why now? Why does his chest ache in the wake of such a great, terrible loss? The loss is not only his -- it is Bobby’s, Sam’s, the world’s loss. Not just his own -- yet at this moment that is how it feels. Except that he does know. He’s been around Dean and Sam long enough to know why.

He cares. It’s simple, really, now that he thinks it over, mulls it around in his head. So simple it almost makes him laugh. He _cares_. Angels are not supposed to care, not like this, not this much and certainly not for a single human man. But he does, he cares so damn much for Dean. Heaving a heavy, long sigh as if annoyed with train of his own morbid thoughts Castiel looks back to the ground at his feet, addressing it.

“You needn’t ask it of me, but I will continue to watch over Sam when I am able. I hope, that, at least will give your soul a measure of peace.” He doesn’t feel foolish, or stupid, speaking to the ground -- to Dean -- like this. In fact he finds it rather comforting and understands now why humans often visit the grave sites of their passed loved ones.

Reaching into his suit jacket, Castiel pulls out the amulet Sam has given to him. His fingers move tenderly over the small icon in his palm, and then grasping the cord attached he pulls the necklace over his head, letting it rest comfortably around his neck. A hand covers the amulet, pressing it against his chest for a moment and then he’s tucking it safely beneath his white dress shirt.

“.. Goodbye Dean.” Castiel whispers quietly, gravel voice filled with an emotion he's just beginning to discover.


	4. Sigillum Diaboli

_'you smiled like an angel, fallen from grace'_

  
  


Dean wakes with a start, gasping and arching, green eyes wide and unseeing for many moments as his vision clears and he takes stock of the white clouds drifting overhead and the faint rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds he hears around where he lays, still and unmoving. He doesn't even remember how he got out; one moment he's laying on the ground of the cage, Michael's sword jammed in his stomach and the next he's staring up at the bright blue sky above him, and goddamn it’s the most beautiful fucking sight he’s seen in a long, long time.

Dean lays there a moment, confused and baffled before slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, then looks down at himself and notices the wounds he'd suffered at the hands of Michael while in the cage are long gone, not even a scar. His eyes scan the area and he snorts softly at the irony that he's back where he started.

"I really gotta stop wakin' up in cemeteries." He mutters to himself as he stands, body stretching and feeling as if it's not been used in a good long while.

The sudden displacement of air has him turning just in time to see Castiel arrive, his smooth dark wings spread out behind him as he lands, and ain’t he a sight for sore eyes. In only a few strides Dean is there in his space and enveloping Cas in a tight hug, half burying his face into the man's shoulder. "So damn glad to see you, Cas."

It takes Castiel a moment to return the hug, and then he's gripping him just as tight, letting out a shaky breath of relief as he thanks God that Dean is alright. They don't let go for a long moment, and when Dean pulls away Castiel lets him, even if he doesn't want to let go just yet, almost fearing this might be some strange wild dream -- even if Angels don't sleep.

"How long've I been gone, Cas?"

"A full year."

"Jesus .." Dean mutters, running a hand over his face as he looks over the new layer of grass that's sprung up from the cage's door in that time.

It's when Dean looks back over to Cas that he takes in his large black wings for the first time, and really sees them. He's seen the shadows of them before, like when they first met and how terrifying it had made Cas, Castiel to him then, seem. But now they look more beautiful than frightening. Without thinking he's reaching over Cas' shoulders to touch them, pads of his fingers running down the length of a feather, watching in wondrous awe as they move and flutter from the touch, one which makes Castiel shiver in response.

Castiel's never thought about what Dean would think if he ever saw his wings. They were not something normal humans could perceive. Dean is no normal human now, not anymore, so it makes sense that he can see their true form without trouble. But to feel Dean touching them, moving over each feather and the arch of bone in a tender caress makes his breath hitch and let out a soundless moan. " _Dean._ "

After a moment Dean's hand retreats and his face carries a light flush as he grins, "Sorry, it's just .. never seen 'em like that before. They're cool, really cool."

Castiel can't help the answering smile that crosses his own face, the tips of his ears a little pink. "Thank you, but Dean .. now that you're here, the other Angels will be coming for you. They've already sensed your presence, it is how I knew you'd returned. I will need to re-map the runes on your ribs. They do not work as they once did when you were .. human."

Dean's expression shifts from joyous to carefully blank as he nods. "Alright, what do you need to do? Same as last time, right?"

"Yes .. it will hurt, and will take longer than before. These specific runes have not been used in many thousands of years, and I will need to .." He pauses and tilts his head. "Improvise. I will then be the only Angel able to find you."

"Jesus, Cas, possessive much?" He says jokingly.

Castiel's lips upturn into a small, barely there smirk. "Yes, I am."

Without warning Castiel presses his left hand forward, burying it inside of Dean's body. A choked scream erupts from the other man as his knees buckle from the searing pain shooting through his chest, surging outward. Castiel grips his shoulder with his right hand and slowly lowers Dean to the ground.

"Dean, please don't move." Castiel says, but Dean thrashes anyway because holy fuck it feels like his soul is being ripped from his body, the pain more intense than anything he can ever remember feeling.

"C-Cas .." He grounds out, voice rough with pain as his hands grip at Castiel, fists in his shirt and jacket, the other gripping the arm wrist deep in his chest, the light shining from it is in his peripheral vision. But it hurts so fucking bad, like he's dying a thousand deaths, like he can feel himself flying apart.

"Dean, please stop moving .. I cannot stop now that I've begun." Castiel says, voice a stern command, but when Dean doesn't stop -- and he feels guilty for hurting Dean like this -- the angel moves and sits astride Dean's thighs, legs locking around them to keep Dean from further moving, and it helps.

"Hurts .." Dean chokes out, and in a tender gesture Castiel leans down and rests his forehead against Dean's own in what he hopes is at least a little comforting.

"I know, Dean .. I'm sorry .. I do not wish to hurt you like this, but it is necessary."

Being this close to Dean, Castiel thinks he is the most beautiful creature God has ever made. His green eyes are wide and shining and he can see the power that swirls beneath their depths and it makes them all the more mesmerizing. He can see the many thousands of freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and the apple of his cheeks and wonders if he has time to count them all.

When their eyes lock Dean can see their vivid brightness, the way they glow slightly with the power he is using to infuse the runes into his bones. He finds himself matching Castiel's breaths without realizing it, the slow steady in-and-out, feeling it fan against his lips and mingle with his own. It feels like it lasts forever, caught up in this moment of surprising serenity.

Then suddenly it's over, and Castiel is sitting up and slowly pulling his hand from Dean's chest, resting it lightly where his heart beats and he finds pleasure in feeling it rabbit-quick beneath his fingers. Proof that Dean is here, alive. Dean lays there, staring up at Cas and panting as he tries to calm down, the pain slowly receding now that it's done. Castiel has yet to move from his precarious position, wholly bewitched by Dean's green eyes, even when Dean shifts and pushes himself up onto his forearms.

"Not that I mind the view or anything, but you gonna get off any time soon?"

"I .. beg your pardon?" Castiel asks, finally snapping out of whatever trance he was in as he shifts back a little, to where he's not nearly so close now.

"Off me, are you gonna get up? 'Cause I kinda can't feel my legs anymore." He says, giving the other man a small cheeky grin.

It’s as if Castiel has finally noticed their position and quickly gets up from Dean, stepping back, smoothing his clothes and Dean swears he can see the color crossing the man's face as he all but looks at him.

"My apologies, Dean."

"S'alright, gotta do what you gotta do right? No harm, no foul." Dean replies easily as he gets up from the ground, brushes the dirt off and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans.

Castiel gives a short nod of understanding. "We should leave. They might not be able to find you any longer, but they know this is where you arrived. They will be coming here."

"Okay, I know the perfect place to head to then." Dean says, and then promptly disappears.

Castiel stiffens slightly, an annoyed expression crossing his face as he huffs irritably and disappears as well to follow, glad he is able to sense Dean’s presence with little trouble.

 

‡ ‡ ‡

 

The evening finds Dean sitting in the booth of a local diner in the middle of nowhere, USA with the newspaper spread out in front of him slightly to the left, there's a cup of steaming hot coffee to his right and a glance at the clock tells him it’s only a quarter past five. He hasn't ordered his food yet, having told the waitress, cute lil thing that she is, he's waiting for a friend.

"You know the best part about all this shit, Cas?" He says without looking up. "The fact that you don't scare the shit out of me anymore when you just show up like that."

"I don't?"

Dean doesn't need to see to know Cas is doing that whole puppy-dog-head-tilt thing at him, and if he's honest with himself, it's kind of adorable. "Nope, I just feel you."

"Feel me?" Castiel asks, brow arching in confusion. When Dean does look up he notices the very tips of Cas' ears have tinged pink.

"I -- you know, I mean, your presence. I can feel it before you show up, so I know it's you. That's all." He shrugs and pointedly looks back down at the paper though he's not really reading it anymore, doesn't even remember what he was looking for in the first place. It just seems a very .. normal .. thing to do, despite the fact he is anything but anymore.

"Aah." Castiel murmurs, then seems to remember he was supposed to be irritated with the man sitting across from him. "You shouldn't do that, Dean .. you've just returned."

Dean just grins at him as he leans back casually in the booth, one arm stretching across the back of it. "Don't like it when people just disappear on you, do ya?" He says, "I didn't either." With that he gives Cas a slightly pointed look to which the angel actually looks a little sheepish.

"It will not happen again."

Dean nods and reaches for his coffee, bringing it to his lips to blow on it before taking a sip -- only to reel back. "The fuck?! It's freez -- holy shit it's frozen .." He then upturns the cup, watching in amazed disbelief as nothing comes out. The coffee is frozen solid and stuck within the mug.

Castiel tries his best to hide the amused smile that crosses his face.

"I just froze my goddamn coffee .. how the hell does one even do that?"

"That's exactly how, Dean .. hell. Lucifer's abilities are now your own." Castiel says, not only reminding Dean but himself as well. Dean is different now, no longer human and no longer the Righteous Man he had proclaimed to follow. Yet he came the moment he felt Dean's presence back on Earth and here he still sits. It's more than the desire to serve that keeps him by Dean's side. He knows what it is, has had a full year to come to the realization -- but it's not something he can allow himself to have or feel. It's blasphemous that he even allows himself to recognize these feelings in the first place.

"The hell are you -- oh." Dean remembers, vaguely, seeing Lucifer frost the window with his breath when they first met, the way the room chilled with his mere presence. "Well, looks like I'm gonna have to work on that then." He gives the frozen mug a small scowl before setting it down and touching the side of its chilled surface, focusing intently. Dean watches with interest the way the coffee seems to melt from the frozen mass inside and grins triumphantly. The grin turns into an expression of slight panic when the coffee starts to bubble, pop and boil over.

“Shit!” Dean exclaims quietly as he jerks his hand back as if it’s been burned -- which it has, actually. “Huh. That didn’t go like I thought it would.” But hey, he’s learning and that’s the important part. He’s just gotta find a balance somewhere in between freezing shit solid and boiling it.

Castiel gives him a small, fond look as he reaches out and lightly touches the mug, cooling the coffee to a more normal temperature. The Angel feels his chest flutter with something strange when that bright beaming grin is directed at him.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean says as he picks up the mug and takes a sip of the coffee, tasting like it’s fresh from the pot. It’s around that time that the waitress comes over and stops at their table, giving them a sweet smile.

“What can I get ya boys this evening?” She asks, taking out her pad and pencil, poised and ready.

Dean casts his green eyes up at her and smiles, they twinkle and glow just a tiny fraction that has the woman all but enchanted. She stills and stares, like she’s caught up in some kind of spell and it’s only when Dean begins speaking that she seems to snap out of it.

“I’d like a bacon cheeseburger, extra bacon and extra grease.” He says, grinning, “A side of fries, a side of onion rings, two slices of your best pie -- don’t even care what flavor, surprise me. And a chocolate milk shake.” He rattles off, then snaps his fingers as if he’s forgotten something. “And a refill of my coffee, please. And thank you.”

The woman nods as she scribbles, probably some sort of short-hand she’s memorized over the years then turns to Castiel. But the man merely shakes his head to which she nods. “Coming right up.” She says, giving them a wink as she leaves.

Once she’s gone, Castiel leans forward and whispers, “You shouldn’t use your abilities like that, Dean.” And he almost sounds reprimanding despite the fact he had been staring as well, caught up in the turbulent power that gave a brighter, iridescent sheen to Dean’s already beautiful green eyes.

“Aw c’mon, Cas! What’s the fun in having shit like this if I can’t even use it!” He argues, taking another large gulp of his coffee considering he’s just ordered a refill. “It’s not like I hurt her or made her do anything.”

“You shouldn’t be taking this so lightly.” Castiel replies, sitting back.

“Who said I was? Cas, look, I didn’t even realize I was doing it until she got all deer caught in a headlight.” He says with a huff. “And when I did, I stopped. I don’t even know what I did, or if I did anything at all.”

Castiel frowns as he realizes he’s made Dean uncomfortable, possibly even upset, and dislikes the way his chest seizes at the knowledge it’s him that caused it. “It’s alright, Dean. But please be more careful from now on.”

“Yeah, sure Cas. Whatever you say.” It’s not like he even knows what to be careful about. He didn’t even think he had any kind of weird devil mojo to begin with. Sure, he’s had a hundred and twenty years of experience in fighting Michael using some of his powers, but they hadn’t manifested until the cage door slammed shut on them and they’d gone a couple thousand rounds already. He’s foolish to think they’d been left behind when he was pulled from the cage. Just something else he’s got to look forward to telling Sammy about.

Speaking of which .. “Hey Cas, how’d I get out anyway?”

Castiel gives a short head-tilt and shakes his head. “I don’t know Dean, but I will look into it.” He says, pausing, “It was very .. surprising .. to feel your presence on Earth again, after so much time has passed.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. One minute I’ve got a sword shoved in my stomach at the bottom of the cage and the next I’m waking up in a friggin’ cemetery.”

They quiet when the waitress reappears and sets the food down across the surface of the table, which earns her a grateful grin and a thumbs up from Dean as she walks away, and then he’s pushing the milk shake toward Castiel. “Here, drink it. Ain’t polite to let a man eat by himself.” He says, as he picks up his own greasy burger and takes a large bite from it. The noises alone he makes should be illegal, Castiel thinks, watching as the grease leaves a shiny sheen on Dean’s plump lips as he chews in obvious delight.

His eyes skitter away from the sight as he shifts uncomfortably in the booth across from the man. “I do not require sustenance, and neither do you.” He says, feeling as if Dean should know this already.

“Yeah, kinda caught the hint after ‘bout fifty years down there.” He says without thinking as he grabs a couple fries from his plate and shoves them in his mouth. “Don’t mean I can’t enjoy it though.” When Dean looks up he catches the faint flicker of guilt that crosses Castiel's face before it’s gone, schooled back into the carefully blank mask.

He sets the burger down and wipes his mouth on a napkin he snatches from the dispenser sitting against the wall. “Cas, it’s not your fault, you know that right? I mean, I made the decision to --”

“It was a stupid decision!” Castiel hisses softly, like he’s been wanting to say it all damn day and was just waiting for the right moment -- and shit, he probably has been, waiting all this time for something he might never get to say. “It was stupid, reckless, and irresponsible and .. and many, many other adjectives I could use to describe it! Did you even think about what would happen to the people you left behind!? Sam and Bobby and ..” _Me,_ he wants to say, but from the look Dean is giving him he knows it’s well implied.

Dean’s quiet for a long while, food untouched. “No Cas, I didn’t think .. wasn’t thinkin’ .. well, I was but not about what would happen after, not about the people that mattered. All I could do was think about how much I’ve screwed up in my life and that if I let Sammy do this, take up the Devil, that I’d failed him -- That I’d failed being the big brother who’s s’posed to watch out for ‘im, makin’ sure nothin’ happens. That’d I’d failed the only job my Dad gave me that mattered. Nothin’ mattered but keeping Sammy safe. I did what I thought I had to do to keep him alive, ‘cause .. fuck, Cas, you know I’d never be able to kill Sam if that’s what it came to.”

Castiel is surprised by the raw emotion in Dean’s voice, though he can understand to an extent. How much has he sacrificed to follow Dean? Disobeying his Father’s orders for a human man. The Righteous Man. Castiel still thinks him as such, despite what he is now.

But Dean continues before Castiel can breathe a word in reply. “And I’m sorry to you too Cas, I really am. I don’t want you feelin’ like this is your fault, that you couldn’t save me.” Dean remembers falling and reaching out to Cas, and the sheer panic that flooded the man’s too blue eyes as he tried to reach for him in turn. “’Cause it’s not your fault Cas, you did what you were supposed to do and I fucked it up. And I’m sorry.” By the end his voice is a little rough and he’s scrubbing at his eyes before picking up his burger again and taking a mighty bite from it.

“Now shut up and drink your damn milk shake, I’m done with the chick-flick moments.”

Castiel’s lips twitch just a tiny bit. “Yes, Dean.”

It’s when Dean’s downed his burger, fries and is halfway through his order of onion rings -- Castiel’s still working on his milk shake by comparison -- that he breaks the companionable silence that’s fallen between them. “So how’s Sammy doin’? He alright?”

He must have been itching to ask, Castiel thinks amusedly to himself as he nods in reply, sipping daintily from the straw. “He is doing well. It was .. difficult for him in the beginning, but he seems content in his life at the moment.” Castiel decides not to tell Dean about Sam’s blood addiction -- that he’d gone right back to it, needing the distraction of it, once he left the safety and comfort of Bobby’s home a few weeks after Dean’s death -- that is Sam’s place, not his.

“So, what, did he go back to school? Is he settled down with some girl? C’mon Cas, details! You miss a lot in a year.” Dean says, grinning, and Castiel thinks he would not be so pleased if he knew the truth. “No, he continued hunting. He stayed with Bobby for a time, but left to keep hunt.” His stomach knots up as Dean’s face falls at the knowledge but continues regardless, “It was perhaps a way of dealing with his loss -- it was something you spent your time, your life, doing together .. perhaps he felt close to you when hunting.”

“Yeah, I guess .. dunno, just thought he’d settle down. He said he hated hunting, wanted to quit when it was over, you know?” He shrugs, running his hand through his hair a little. “But he’s happy tho right? Hunting? He’s .. doin’ okay?”

“Yes, Dean .. why do you ask?”

Dean sits up a bit straighter in the booth as he looks down at the onion rings on his plate, picking at them, shoulder lifting in a half shrug. “I was just thinking .. that maybe I should just .. let him be this time, you know? I mean .. what the fuck, Cas, I’m not even supposed to be here, even I ain’t that dumb to not realize that. I mean c’mon, even you gotta admit this is a little fucked up. Sure, I get being pulled from Hell before; Lucifer and the Apocalypse and everything else going down. I got that. But why this time? What do I gotta do now? Fuck that, what _brought_ me back?” He asks, sounding frustrated and a little lost. “Shit Cas, I’m the d--”

The sudden pause makes Castiel sit up a little, listening attentively and watching as Dean takes a shaky breath, realizing perhaps he’s never actually vocally acknowledged what he is now and understands how hard this must be for the man.

“I’m the Devil, Cas .. I’m fucking _Lucifer_ ” He hisses, leaning in slightly to do so, keeping his voice down. “What could possibly be the reason for _me_ being brought back? I just don’t get it.”

That isn’t all that’s bothering Dean. What the hell would he tell Sammy? ‘ _Hey bro it’s me, the devil, let’s go kill some shit!_ ’ Yeah no, he doesn’t think so. It ain’t gonna work like that and he’d be a fool to think Sam wouldn’t fill him full of lead the first time he sees him walking around on God’s green.

“He didn’t believe me before Cas, he sure as shit ain’t gonna if I just show up on his doorstep one day.” Dean mutters, frowning down at his plate as he pushes it away and draws the plates of pie over instead. He needs his comfort food, dammit. “’Sides, I don’t wanna be out on a hunt with him and fuck up some how and wind up hurting him ‘cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with all this fuckin’ devil mojo I got.” Because he _will_ fuck up. He always fucks up. He’s Dean Winchester, Fuck Up Extraordinaire. It would be just one more thing to tack onto the mile long list of shit he's fucked up in his life. Can't get any more fucked up than becoming the Devil, right?

“Then you will just learn to control them.” Castiel replies simply, as if it’s the easiest fucking thing in the world.

“Cas, I don’t even know what _they_ are.” He says, grounding out the emphasis on ‘they’. “How the hell am I supposed to control what I don’t even know I have or what I can do?”

“Then I suggest you find out.” He says as he cocks his head to the side, “You already know you can both freeze coffee and boil it.” Castiel offers helpfully, motioning to the cup with his slender fingers. But it just serves to make Dean scowl.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that.” Dean grumbles as he spears his fork into his poor, defenseless piece of pie and takes a bite.


	5. Falling Head First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Hard R for wing!kink of the pron-ish nature toward the end. You've been warned!

_'i fill my lungs with fear and i exhale'_

The thing is -- is that Cas is right and he knows it. He’s gotta learn what his powers are now and how to use them so he won’t accidentally charbroil his own little brother whenever he gets around to actually telling Sam about his new .. situation. Or hell, maybe he _will_ wanna roast the sasquatch. But as it is he’s got some work cut out for him. Which is why two weeks later Cas transported them to some empty field in the middle of who the fuck knows where.

And if you ask him this is the worst fucking idea Cas has ever come up with. He fucking hates flying -- right up there with witches .. fucking witches, always the witches. And then Castiel suggests that he show him his wings, because he _does_ have wings Cas tells him (“All Angels have wings, Dean.”) because technically that’s what he is, what he became when whatever happened happened to make him Lucifer. So he’s technically sort of a fallen Angel and therefore should have wings. Even though he’s never seen them, or felt them for that matter, so he feels just a little disinclined to believe Cas right now.

Castiel sighs and mutters, “Even now you still refuse to do what I ask of you .. is it really so difficult?”

“It is when I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.” Seriously, can’t they start with something simpler? Like .. causing a plague of locusts or something?

“Relax and concentrate, Dean, your wings will manifest into physical form.” Effortlessly Castiel’s dark wings spread out behind him, wide and menacing, spanning at least twelve feet wide per wing on either side of him and Dean can’t help the way his eyes widen and darken simultaneously. He’s never seen anything so terrifyingly beautiful before and his fingers itch to touch them again.

Yeah, he’s definitely got a thing for Cas’ wings alright.

“Dean.” Castiel says, frowning when Dean doesn’t respond, so he says it again, “Dean.” Louder this time and it finally causes the man to blink and look back up to his face, his own pinking just a little.

“Yeah, right. Wings. Gotcha.” Dean rolls his eyes, which only makes Castiel smirk a little. He heaves a sigh and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind and see the wings in his head, apparently it’ll help them manifest or something. When he pictures them they're large and feathery soft in his mind, black like Cas' simply because he likes how they look on the man. There's a slight uncomfortable pinching pressure against his back, along his shoulder blades, and then suddenly his eyes fly open.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean shouts, suddenly teetering backward as the weight of his wings knock him off balance. The sudden jerk of movement causes Castiel to lurch forward, hands grasping tightly into the front of Dean's leather jacket and shirt, hauling him forward and back onto his feet. The quick change in direction has Dean trying to stabilize himself, causing him to stumble forward and well into Castiel's personal space, leaving scant inches between them. His heart is thundering in his ears as he stares in surprise at Cas, blue eyes boring into his own and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s got a fist full of trenchcoat in his hands and neither seem ready to let go.

“Beautiful.” Castiel says quietly, his voice a breath against Dean’s face and though the Angel is looking right at him, caught up in the stunning green of Dean’s eyes, he can see the dark wings spread behind the man. “Your wings.”

Oh. Right. His wings. Though judging from the way Cas is still staring at him he’s pretty sure he’s not talking about _just_ his wings, but doesn’t call the Angel out on it. Dean watches carefully as Cas’ eyes flicker over his shoulder, looking at his wings apparently and when the man reaches out he takes a step back. A flicker of hurt crosses Castiel’s face as he looks back to Dean in confusion.

It’s not that he doesn’t want Cas to touch them or anything, but .. hell, he’s seen how Cas reacted to him touching them the first time he saw ‘em and Dean’s not sure he’ll be able to behave himself if Cas’ got his fingers -- slender, soft fingers -- touching all over his new wings .. which are probably really sensitive.

“Sorry Cas, but I don’t put out on the first date.” Dean says, giving the other a cheeky grin. Which is a complete and total lie .. but whatever, the look on Cas’ face is totally worth it.

Castiel gives Dean a confused look, head tilting a little. “I don’t .. put what out?”

A snort of laughter and Dean’s shaking his head. “Nothin’ Cas, just .. let me get used to ‘em first, yeah? I mean shit, I don’t even wanna touch ‘em and they’re mine.” Hell he hasn’t even looked at them yet. Which .. he probably should do, yeah.

It takes some psyching himself up to look back at them, not knowing what to expect, but when he turns his head his eyes widen at the large black wings protruding from his back -- what he can see of them anyway. They’re nearly as large as Cas’ and inky black -- darker than Cas’ he thinks and it takes a moment before him to realize he can see the feathers too. They’re dark enough that even manifested they look as if they’re nothing but shadows spread out behind him. He hesitates a moment before reaching back and touching a wing. It surprises him to find the feathers are downy and soft, not at all as rough and scratchy and brittle as he’d expected them to be, given they’re the Devil’s wings. All in all they’re pretty bad ass.

There is one thing that’s been bothering him though, and he’s been wanting to ask for awhile now that he’s out and not doomed to fight that feathery jackass downstairs for all eternity. “Hey Cas?” He asks as he turns back to look at the Angel, who raises a brow in question.

“How am I .. you know .. me? I mean, this isn’t how it was supposed to happen right? The whole Lucifer thing? It’s been buggin’ me since I got back.” Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck, half fearing yet wanting the answer. “By all rights it should be Lucy in here, not me, but I’m still me though not me?” Ugh, this is giving him a headache.

“I understand what you are asking, Dean, and I’m not sure I can give you an answer. It is .. what has happened should be impossible.” Castiel replies seriously, and to be honest he has been questioning it since the beginning. “I can only come up with a theory; because you are -- were -- the Archangel Michael’s true vessel, you would be able to withstand his might and glory, that your will is as strong as the power he himself wields. It is in your blood, just as the demon blood is within Sam. Your will alone is stronger than his, it is perhaps that which enabled you to .. assimilate Lucifer. It is the only viable theory I have.”

“Assim-what now? So .. you’re saying I absorbed him or something?” He asks disbelievingly. “That I just soaked him up like a frigging sponge? Is that why I’m .. like this? Still me but different? He can’t come back and bite me in the ass or anything, right?”

“I believe so. When I looked into your soul, Dean -- it was bright and beautiful as it ever was, but I could see the taint of Lucifer’s hold on you. It was not all consuming as it should have been, and over time it seems to have settled and taken root. Your soul is in the same state as it was then -- it is .. difficult to explain. You are still yourself but you are Lucifer as well -- he is gone, taken over by your will. It is why you must be careful, Dean. You are now the embodiment of Lucifer and hold the same power over the damned as he did.” Castiel says seriously, then more quietly, “I am sorry Dean, that is all the knowledge I have to offer.”

“No, it’s fine Cas. I was just wonderin’.” It makes sense he supposes, explains why he’d felt different when he woke up in Stull the first time after he made the deal, why his conversation with Michael had felt wholly wrong yet right at the same time. He had figured this might’ve happened .. but it’s good to have it confirmed at the same time, even if it kinda scares the shit out of him, to be honest. Last thing he wants is a horde of demons following him around like the fucking pied piper. What’s even scarier and more fucked up is that the idea sounds rather appealing and it’s enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Dean shakes his head to rid himself of the treacherous thoughts and shifts his shoulders, his wings rustling behind him with the movement and, yeah, that feels really fucking weird. It’s like he’s got a million more bones in his body to move around and get used to -- he probably really does. And honestly he’d probably hate them if it wasn’t for the way Cas’ stunning blue eyes watch their every movement and he thinks Cas probably likes them more than he does and they’re his wings. He tests that theory and rustles his right wing, the feathers fanning out with the motion and sure enough, Cas’ eyes flicker to it, watching with rapt attention. It’s kind of ..

He clears his throat then, feeling his face warm, the wings folding against his back and he swears Cas makes a small noise of protest when he does. “’Kay, so what’re we gonna do here?”

“What?” Castiel asks as if he’s completely forgotten just what the point of this exercise was and his face seems to color just a little. “Right, yes, the lesson is flying.”

Without preamble Castiel’s black wings flare out behind him and in two swift beats he’s nearly five feet off the ground and Dean is already half hard. This is going to be a long, long flying lesson.

‡ ‡ ‡

One would say it’s almost like riding a bike with training wheels; get used to riding the bike and then after awhile off go the training wheels. Dean says it’s complete and utter bullshit.

A hundred feet in the air and Dean’s clinging to Castiel like a goddamn girl and pleading with the man to put him the fuck down please, right now, because he fucking hates heights. Hates them with the passion of a thousand burning suns and he swears to God (yes, God) if Cas drops him he’s going to smite the holy hell out of him. He also threatens disembowelment if Cas so much as breaths a word of this to anyone.

And it’s not like Castiel minds, terribly, that Dean is clinging to him. In fact he finds it rather endearing the way Dean trusts him not to let go, not to let him fall. His lips twitch just slightly as his grip loosens, and when it does Dean makes a small terrified noise -- a soft whine of protest that makes Castiel’s slacks rather uncomfortable -- and tightens his grip on his side and shoulder, wings flapping too fast to hold him up properly. Each time he does this Dean clings a little tighter and threatens smiting if he dares lets go.

It’s only after the tenth or so time that Dean realizes Cas’ doing it on purpose, can see the little amused twitch of his lips whenever Dean’s fingers flex around the trenchcoat. He’s not sure whether to be pissed off or .. no he’s pretty pissed off actually ‘cause here he is trusting Cas to keep him safe and the jackass thinks it’s funny. Well two can play at that game.

“Pretty cozy up here huh? Just the two of us.” Dean says after a moment, giving the other man a flirty grin, the hand on his shoulder moving back to touch the high arch of his nearest wing. The Angel gives him a warning look. “Dean ..”

This isn’t his intention and Dean touching his wings is distracting him from the purpose of this lesson. “Dean.” He tries again, and his stomach churns with how soft the name comes out when he speaks.

Dean just grins at him, teasing, “What’s the matter Cas, thought you liked me bein’ all touchy feely. Couldn’t seem to get enough of it before.”

Castiel’s once rapt and fond expression closes off instantly. He’s not ready for it, or even expecting it, when Castiel lets go. Suddenly Dean’s falling and he realizes belatedly he’s fucked up again. Apparently teasing Cas was not the way to go about this.

“Cas!” He screams but his voice sounds too quiet with the wind rushing up around him, the way the world spirals in his vision, the Angel moving farther away the further he falls and holy shit he’s going to die because he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

Castiel watches him fall and it pains him like nothing else not to go after him when Dean calls for him, voice frightened and strained. But he knows Dean wouldn’t learn otherwise, never one to take the easy road, so this is the best he can do.

Shutting his eyes Dean wills his wings to work - just fucking work already! -- and suddenly he jerks to a halt. “Cas.” He breathes out and opens his eyes, expecting to see the man there in front of him, holding him up and is surprised when he’s not. Looking down he’s about thirty feet from the ground and it’s only then he can hear the soft beat of wings behind him. Casting a glance back Dean sees his inky black wings flapping behind him, keeping him afloat. Definitely not Cas.

“Huh.”

‡ ‡ ‡

Okay, so he’s a lying liar who lies. Dean fucking loves flying; loves going up as high as he can and just letting go, dropping down and spiralling out, wings folded up flat against his back. He falls and feels the rush of air and adrenaline, heart racing and it’s only when he feels a familiar rise in panic when he can make out the ground below that he spreads his wings and coasts.

The first couple times Dean does this, once he’s got the whole flying thing down, freaks the fuck out of Castiel. The man rushes down after him, wings splayed and arched to give him speed as he follows and it’s not until he’s got a hold of Dean and is pulling him to a stop that he realizes Dean’s done it on purpose. Perhaps not to purposefully scare the shit out of him, and Dean says as much. Tells Cas how he never in a million years thought it would be so freeing. Castiel just smiles and lets go.

The next few dozen times he doesn’t worry and just watches the magnificence of it, the way Dean soars across the wide open blue sky like he was meant for it. Like it was meant _for him_.

On impulse Castiel decides to fly with him, and if it bothers the other man it doesn’t show. Dean takes to his presence in flight like a fish to water and more than once their wings touch, a soft brush of feathers - and sometimes it’s deliberate. Castiel can’t find it in himself to care. In flight their paths cross more often that not, flying around one another in an intricate dance, and every so often feathers touch their skin.

The landing is a little rough for Dean, but it doesn’t hurt and his wings flare out once and kick up dust around his feet before folding in against his back. Castiel lands gracefully a moment later at his side. His dark hair is slightly ruffled, as is his clothes and there’s a soft flush to his face from the wind rushing around them while in flight, his blue eyes are bright and full of mirth and Dean thinks it’s probably the first time he’s ever seen Cas happy. It’s a really, really good look for him.

‘ _Fuckable too._ ’ Dean thinks suddenly to himself though the way Cas is looking at him he thinks he just might’ve said that out loud. Shit.

“What did you say, Dean?” He asks, head tilting curiously and Dean thanks God Cas didn’t hear that, or didn’t understand it if he did.

“Nothin’, hey you hungry? Cuz I am. I’m fucking starving, let’s go get something to eat.” He rambles, hoping the change in conversation will keep his mind from where it was heading. “How the hell do I put these things away anyway?” Dean asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of his wings.

“You don’t _need_ to eat Dean ..” He says with a sigh, “You “put them away” in the same manner you manifested them.” Castiel adds helpfully.

“Huh, that’s it?” Dean shrugs and gives it a try, closing his eyes and willing them away the way he had willed them to appear. The suddenly weightlessness has him taking a step or two forward in surprise and looking back he grins as he sees they are indeed no longer there. “Sweet.”

“It will get easier, I assure you, to .. bring them out and put them away, as you would say it.”

“Perfect, now lets go. Just ‘cause I don’t need to eat doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He reasons and Castiel supposes he can’t really object to that.

“Very well.” He concedes, “Any particular establishment you have in mind?”

Dean shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, “Nah, same place we ate at last time is fine, plus they’ve got great burgers and this time you’re trying pie. You’ve missed out and it’s time to fix it.”

Before Castiel can even fathom a reply to that Dean’s gone in a blink and yeah, Castiel can understand now why Dean found it so annoying when he disappeared without another word.

This time when Castiel arrives Dean is already eating, but there is a slice of cherry pie on his side of the table. Dean greets him with a small greasy grin. “Go on, try it. Eat up.” Dean urges the Angel.

Letting out a suffering sigh, Castiel cuts off a piece of the pie and takes a bite. Dean watches carefully as Castiel stiffens slightly and looks down at the pie in surprise, like he thought it would taste of ash and sulfur.

“It’s very good.” Castiel says after a moment, then cuts off a larger bite for himself, glancing up briefly to take in the others pleased grin. “You’re trying to tempt me with gluttony.” The way he says it sounds more fond than accusing.

Dean snorts amusedly and says without thinking, “If I wanted to tempt you it wouldn’t be with gluttony.”

Castiel makes a small choked noise and then coughs and it takes all his Father’s will for him not to reply that Dean doesn’t _need_ to tempt him.

Dean on the other hand has to remind himself that Angels -- Cas specifically -- are off limits and he should stop trying to flirt with him. Liking Cas wasn’t a conclusion he’d just stumbled upon .. well it was, but he’d had a long time to think about it -- a hundred and twenty hell years worth to mull over his attraction and affection for the angel Castiel and the results were surprising. To him at least. He never thought it would be difficult _not_ to flirt with the person -- angel -- you’re pretty much in love with.

The ensuing silence is thick and tense after that.

It’s nearly an hour later when they leave the diner, food and pie devoured and sitting well in their stomachs, that Dean brings up taking in a motel for the night. Castiel reminds him (again) that he has no need for sleep any longer, and Dean argues that while he may not need sleep he’s fucking exhausted and his back and shoulders are killing him, so can they please get a motel so he can fuckin’ relax?

Castiel relents and with a touch to Dean’s arm they’re in front of a motel, vacancy light flickering beneath the sign. For the third time since Dean’s been back he thanks whatever pulled him out that his wallet remained in tact. Walking into the front office of the motel, Castiel gives a slight nod and Dean smiles at the old man before requesting a room.

A minute or two passes before the old man plops down a key. “Keep it down. I don’ want people complainin’ cuz your boy here can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, sure, you bet.” Dean says, quickly paying for the room and grabbing the key before scurrying out of the office and decidedly _not_ looking at Cas. The man is right beside him and equally as quiet. When he chances a glance in the others direction he finds Castiel looking away from him but he can see the tips of his ears have gone red in embarrassment.

At least he’s not the only one then. ‘Course it isn’t helping him _not_ think about it either. Damn that old man!

And damn him again Dean thinks to himself when he keys open the door and realizes there’s only a single king size bed. Really not helping here. It’s like God decided it would be fun to tease him. Oh well, it’s not like he’s going to actually sleep. Dean doesn’t say anything as he enters and heads over to the bed before throwing himself down onto it, face first and groaning into the pillows. He hears the door shut and lock a moment later.

Castiel stands there quietly by the door, unsure of the protocol now that it’s just them. Should he stay? It’s not as if he’ll have trouble finding Dean if the need arose. Should he leave? Dean hasn’t told him to yet .. and even though he doesn’t need sleep Dean had said he wants to relax. His mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to think of something to say. It’s strange that _now_ of all times he doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s not as if he’s never been alone with Dean before, but it feels different somehow. Perhaps it’s due to his .. _feelings_ for the human-turned-devil. And _that_ makes him want to laugh with the absurdity of it all, because by all definitions it means he’s got feelings for the devil. It’s a wonder Father hasn’t struck him down by now.

When he looks over to Dean he’s stilled by the sight of the man watching him and wonders how long he’s been doing it. Dean doesn’t say anything but instead crooks his finger and Castiel goes like a moth to a flame.

“Yes, Dean?” He asks, and his voice is softer, lower than normal.

“Can you use your angel mojo stuff and make my back stop hurting?” Dean asks, pointing to his back and shoulders. “Don’t know how to do it myself just yet.”

Now that he’s closer Castiel can see the way Dean’s green eyes glow faintly in the dim motel lighting and it’s a rather captivating sight, especially when they’re directed at him. It makes him _feel_ things he shouldn’t be feeling. Or wanting. He hesitates, Dean still watching him, and instead when he presses his hands to Dean’s back he begins to push along the muscles of his back in a light massage.

Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he turns his head and buries his face into the pillow again, a soft sound escaping him. This is definitely not what he expected Cas to do, but god does it feel good and he just can’t bring himself to tell Cas to stop, not even when the Angel moves to sit astride the backs of his thighs for a better reach. Dean groans when Cas hits a particularly hard knot of muscle and works to loosen it, fingers kneading surely against his back and even with his shirt and jacket on he can feel their heat.

Then Castiel stops and Dean’s turning his head slightly in confusion, but then his jacket is being tugged and he gets it. Dean pushes himself up a little as Castiel helps remove the leather jacket, which he folds neatly and sets it on the floor in front of the nightstand as Dean lays back down and waits for Castiel to continue.

“Bring them out.” He says quietly, voice gravelly and low in a way that makes his stomach knot up and yeah, for a minute there he totally doesn’t think he’s talking about his wings. But then Cas lightly taps his back between his shoulders and Dean sighs. He’s been avoiding letting Cas actually touch them, but fair’s fair right? Castiel sits back in anticipation of him bringing them out, and he does. Large black wings unfurl from his back, the weight of them only seems to make his back ache even more and it’s almost like they’re swallowing up the light in the room.

“They’re beautiful you know.” Castiel says softly as he lays his hands upon them, almost reverently and begins massaging at the base of them, where the black of the wing meets and melds into the man’s tanned back beneath his shirt and is the sorest. It makes Dean press his face into the pillow as he bites back a moan. It really, really shouldn’t turn him on this much.

But it does, god it does. It’s like Cas’ got his hands on his dick not his wings. What really gets him is that Cas’ gotta know what this is doing to him and fucking he keeps going. It wouldn’t even be so bad if Cas wasn’t so damn gentle about it. The way his fingers slide slow along the base of each wing, massaging against the skin through the material of his shirt; pushing, rubbing, kneading and fuck if it’s not driving him nuts. But it’s working, and he can feel the tension melt away and the pain ebb.

“How does it feel?” Castiel asks and Dean knows it’s meant to sound innocent, just an inquiry but what comes out of his mouth is anything but.

“Feels so fuckin’ good Cas. Magic fingers ain’t got nothin’ on you, just don’t stop.” Dean mumbles, muffled by the pillow he’s got under his head, and when Cas’ hands move again he’s arching back into them in the same moment he’s pressing into the mattress, grinding his dick into the firm surface and the pressure plus the friction from the cotton and denim makes him moan.

Castiel watches the movement, the shift of his hips, from his position atop Dean’s thighs and feels his own slacks constrict, hands still moving across Dean’s back and the base of his wings. He knows he should stop, that he’s crossing a line into territory he should not be allowed in -- but he doesn’t, he can’t. He’s helping Dean, making him feel good. And that’s all that matters - not his growing attraction to Dean, his lust and desire for him, the way Dean’s smile makes his heart stutter or the way his soft moans make him wantwant _want_.

So his hands grow bolder, fingers kneading a little harder along his back, down the knobs of his spine and along his sides. He can feel as well as hear Dean’s breath hitch and the way his hips jerk down minutely. His touch ascends as he presses a line up Dean’s back to his shoulders where he kneads as well, feeling the tension there ease, his forearms moving lightly along the arching ridge of Dean’s wings. He can see them tremble, the feathers as they twitch and flutter and he knows for certain Dean is enjoying this. Really, _really_ , enjoying this.

Dean can feel Cas’ weight shift when he moves down his back, and up again and it’s the only thing stopping him from mindlessly rutting against the mattress -- not that he wouldn’t save for the fact it would shamefully embarrass him. He makes a small pleased noise when Cas moves to his shoulders and his wings twitch with the sensation of Cas against them, and even touches as small as that send little tendrils of pleasure through him. It’s like his wings have a direct line to his dick or something. Not that he’s exactly complaining right now.

“C’mon Cas, m’not gonna break.” Dean slurs roughly as he lifts his head to speak. While the gentle slow touches are nice, really they are, he wouldn’t mind a little more force behind the massaging, to get the deep seeded kinks out of his back.

Castiel nods, though Dean can’t see it, and obliges the man as he presses the heels of his hands into the man’s shoulders and rubs in a hard circle. Dean melts beneath his hand and groans appreciatively and Castiel smiles to himself knowing he’s done the right thing.

“Yeah, like that Cas, s’good .. lil lower.” Dean instructs and Castiel moves, heels digging in just below his shoulders but when they get too close to the base of his wings Dean jerks his hips down and moans aloud. “Fuck, Cas.” And the sound is not at all as pained as he thinks it should be.

That seems to break something inside of Castiel, like he can’t not touchcaress _stroke_ Dean’s wings, like he just can’t resist the temptation any longer. Leaning forward Castiel presses his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck as his fingers scrape lightly along the base of the man’s wings, making him moan and arch beneath him. The wings flare and tremble when he does it again, slender fingers moving up the soft downy arch, pinching and massaging as they move.

“Jesus, Cas .. _fuck_.” Dean pants out and suddenly behaving flies right out the window just like he was afraid it would. But goddamn Cas’ touching his wings, the rigid bony structure that is way more sensitive than it has any right to be and he can’t help the way his hips stutter against the mattress, pressing down in a dirty grind as Cas’ nails scrape across them.

“Fuck, Cas .. don’t ..” He chokes out a moan as he bucks into the mattress, back and wings arcing, “Don’ stop .. Cas.” And as if he couldn’t get any more turned on he can feel the soft, hot puffs of Cas’ breath against his back, can feel his face pressing into his skin and all he can do is moan Cas’ name and thrust against the mattress.

Castiel almost wishes he could see the pleasured expression on Dean’s face as he glides his fingers along the full length of the wings -- what he can reach anyway, but thinks it might be better this way. Thinks Dean would likely stop him if he were in a different position than he is now. Feeling the man moving steadily beneath him sends heat racing through his body, pooling low in his stomach, making him hard in his slacks. And he wants, wants so badly, but doesn’t give in. This is about Dean, not him. Always about Dean.

Tipping his head Castiel presses his lips feather-light to the back of Dean’s neck as his nails rake across the downy, inky dark feathers, groaning softly against his skin. “ _Dean_.”

That one single spoken word, _his name_ , coming from those chapped lips is what does him in. “OhgodCas.” Dean exclaims loudly into the pillow, thrusting hard and fast against the stiff mattress as it rips his orgasm from him, pulled out of him so sharp it leaves him panting breathlessly in a shaking heap on the bed. Cas’ fingers stroke him through his climax, easing up until he stops completely, until the only thing he can feel is the Angels short breath against the back of his neck.

‘ _Holy shit .._ ’ Dean says to himself and thinks he must’ve said it aloud judging by the sudden intake of breath coming from Castiel.

“I have to go.” Castiel says, voice shaky and a little breathless as he moves suddenly from the bed, standing and smoothing out his clothes, adjusting his slacks discreetly.

“Wha .. Cas?” Dean mutters as he turns slightly to look back at Castiel, his green eyes glazed with ebbing pleasure.

“I am being called back.” He says, and it’s not a lie but he’s glad for it. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he shouldn’t have let it go this far. Reaching out, Castiel presses two fingers to the middle of Dean’s back, not only cleaning him of his .. mess, but removing the pain as well as retracting the man’s wings.

“Oh, alright ..” Yeah, he totally didn’t just sound like a disappointed teenage girl right then. Dean can’t help but watch as Cas touches him again, the pain instantly gone as were his wings. “Hey, thanks Ca--” When he looks back the Angel is gone and Dean scowls.

“Dammit, Cas! You know I hate that!” This time though, he doesn’t think he can fault him for it. Dean sighs and sits up, belatedly realizing Cas has cleaned him up too and yeah, _that’s_ not embarrassing at all. Still, this went way farther than he ever imagined it would and he’s not really sure what to do now. He’s been behaving himself and now he’s not sure what the hell he should do, and what this will change between them. And on top of this he can’t even sleep. Now that is fucked up.

“Fuck. My life!” Dean shouts as he falls back onto the bed and sighs at the ceiling. He swears God’s gotta be doing this on purpose, the sadistic bastard.

‡ ‡ ‡

As it turns out Dean _is_ actually able to fall asleep and slumbers through most of the night, waking sometime around four in the morning as he apparently doesn’t need a lot of it. He heads out and finds a local twenty-four hour diner, has breakfast and roots through the papers for a hunt, something small to test out his abilities on. Or just something to keep his mind off of other things.

He finds a local haunting that looks easy enough and jots down a few things on a square of paper and a pencil he nabs from the waitress as he devours his pancakes and coffee. He tips the waitress before heading out.

The case turns out to be a simple salt and burn, and while there’s a lot of things he’s learning he can do, he doesn’t think digging a corpse is one of them so he has to do that one by hand. Once he’s found the bones, he tosses out the shovel and climbs out of the hole he’s dug himself into and brushes himself off -- he really needs to learn the whole cleaning trick sometime soon. He goes for his lighter but stops, hesitating a moment as he looks thoughtfully at the bones laid out in the grave at his feet.

“Might as well give it a try.” He says to himself and looking down at the bones he snaps his fingers, a grin splits wide across his face as the bones light up like a bonfire.

“Hah! I don’t need matches to light you up, bitch!” Dean exclaims proudly, pointing down at the flaming corpse.

Man, he can’t wait to tell Cas!


	6. On The Dark Side

_'slip into the dark side and cross that line'_

It’s been a rough year -- no, scratch that. It’s been hard, really fucking hard living without his big brother -- without Dean. The few times he’s gone without him there was something he could do. After the events of the mystery spot when he’d spent six months after Dean’s death searching and it had resulted in getting him back eventually, because he just hadn’t stopped. And yes, he hadn’t anticipated getting Dean back after the hell-hounds ripped his brother to shreds right in front him -- but that hadn’t meant he didn’t try.

This time is different though. There’s no getting him back, not again. Dean’s always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory -- well he got it this time. Sure, it saved the world and averted the Apocalypse, the Angels had their party up in Heaven no doubt. But for him? It fucking sucked. He’s never really given thought to what it would be like without Dean. Sure, when he left for Stanford it was all about getting away from his dad and the family business, getting away from Dean who sided with their father rather than him -- and that hurt. But he’d forgiven Dean eventually, and even though he hadn’t really wanted to leave back then, he’d been glad to see his brother regardless.

He’s regretted a lot of things in his life from that point on, but the one thing he regrets the most now is how little he’s told Dean how much he loves him, and how much he’d missed him those months when he was gone, dead or in hell. He supposes he’s always thought it would just be him and Dean, against the world, against everything, supernatural or not. He never really thought -- wouldn’t let himself think -- about Dean being gone for good, about what it would be like without his big brother protecting him, annoying the shit out of him with his stupid music rules in the car. He listens to Zeppelin a lot more now, Metallica too. Dean would be proud.

Another thing he regrets is not believing Dean on that fateful day, when his brother begged and pleaded for him to believe it was really him. But he couldn’t, because it was Lucifer and he was a devil and a demon and demons lie, they always lie. Except maybe when the truth is even worse than any lie they could fabricate. So maybe it was Dean. It looked and sounded like him, so much it made him ache. So much that the betrayal he saw in those turbulent green eyes when he opened the gate to the cage made him want to vomit.

He wonders still, even a year or more later, if Castiel was right when he said it was really Dean in there. Castiel has never lied before, to his knowledge anyway, about Dean. Even now it makes him sick to think that Castiel might have been right. There are also times when he regrets giving the amulet to Castiel, if only because it was Dean’s and Sam should have kept it. Because it was given to Dean from him, and it was Dean’s and if Dean was gone then he should have kept it like he had before, just like he kept everything else of Dean’s. But he hadn’t, because he could see the guilt and weight of Dean’s death in Castiel’s blue, blue eyes and at the time felt it was the right thing to do. Even though he misses the little trinket, he still thinks it was best to give it to Castiel. Besides, he has the rest of Dean with him, so one little necklace missing isn’t all that much.

Sam still keeps Dean’s duffle in the trunk of the Impala, tucked far in the back and out of the way. He keeps the car tuned up and maintained, because that’s how Dean would want it, would kill him if he did anything less. There was nothing more important to Dean than Sam and his baby. It’s the least he can do and sometimes it makes the regret he feels burn a little less in his chest.

The first few months were the worst. He drank and hunted, fucked any woman who seemed interested, just to feel something other than the guilt that plagued him. It was only when he almost died during a hunt that he realized maybe he should take a break, get his head on straight.

Regret and guilt feels the same to Sam; guilt that he didn’t try hard enough to stop Dean once he realized what he was going to do -- that he didn’t rush right into that apartment and stop him like he knew Dean would have done for him, regret that he didn’t believe him, that he didn’t try to save him even when Castiel had. That he hadn’t tried to stop Adam-Michael-whoever from attacking Dean and dragging him into the cage -- the space that was meant for him. He doesn’t think the guilt and regret he felt -- still feels -- in those moments will ever go away. He just tried to bury them, with hunting and liquor and sex. He’s turned into a real Dean Winchester hasn’t he? Just like his brother, only more or less a sad copy of him. A part of him feels soulless and empty.

It was a month later, sometime in June, that he ran into the Campbells, and boy that’d been pretty fucking shocking since he thought their grandparents were dead -- was pretty damn sure actually. He’d been on a hunt and nearly got killed when he ran into them, a small group headed by Samuel Winchester, the very man he was named after. It took a lot of convincing for them to let him go and not gank him straight away -- agreed to all the usual tests. And even more to allow him to join their group -- their family. He explained -- though not in so many words, leaving out bits and pieces of Angels and the Apocalypse -- about Dean, that he lost him and in turn felt lost as well -- so so lost.

The older man had just squeezed his shoulder, clapped his hand on the back of the younger Winchester’s neck and steered him silently toward their van as the group headed out, the hunt finished. It was then that Sam realized he’d been crying while relaying what happened. Maybe it was that also that led the small hunter family to taking him in. It was the first time in many months he felt like he belonged, that he was doing some good instead of just wasting the life his brother left him on booze and women and shitty hunting.

There were things going down, he knew that much, but choose better to keep his head out of it. He didn’t ask the questions that were bothering him and his need to know, and they let him stick around and join them on some of the smaller hunts. It was around that time that his past came back to bite him in the ass when they’d taken out a small group of demons and he had their blood on his hands, literally. It was the first time since before the end of the Apocalypse that he’d come across demon blood and damn if the need for it hadn’t been building for a good long while now. He knew what it did to him, that it would make him stronger, a better hunter and he needed to prove himself to the Campbells that he was just as good a hunter as they were. He felt guilty taking some of the blood, a small part of him knowing that Dean wouldn’t approve of this, would hate him for it. The other part of him though, the part that sounded like Ruby whispering in his ear -- soft and sultry -- told him that Dean wasn’t here anymore and couldn’t stop him. No one could stop him. No one had to know.

‡ ‡ ‡

The trunk of the Impala now houses a small cooler filled with ice and bottles of demon blood, pushed in the back next to Dean’s duffle and out of sight. Sam keeps this a secret, only drinks when it’s necessary, when he’s going on a hunt that he knows will be dangerous and could get real ugly real fast. No one knows and he wants to keep it that way. When he gets low, down to three bottles or less he takes off to find the nearest demon. No one asks where he goes just like he doesn’t ask when they go off without him on some hunt they tell him nothing about. They don’t trust him yet and that’s okay. He doesn’t trust them either. But they fill the empty spot inside him just a little.

When he finds what he’s looking for he strings the demon up and bleeds it dry into a bucket sitting beneath it. He never stays to watch, because a part of him knows this isn’t right, the part that knows there’s a human in there somewhere, trapped and scared. But he’s addicted and he can’t care about that right now. So he leaves and comes back a few hours later. The bucket is full and the demon is dead. He cuts it down and wraps the body up, cleaning up any evidence that he’d been there before ever so carefully pouring the blood from the bucket into waiting bottles, hands steady, not wanting to waste a single drop.

He calls the body in from a pay phone when he’s done and out of the area, any evidence he’d been there is completely wiped clean, then hightails it back to the Campbell base camp. He’s halfway there when he has to pull over onto the side of the road and throw up into the bushes, barely making it out of the Impala. This is also part of his ritual of draining demons, because he knows it’s sick and twisted and he’s no better than what he’s killing, but fuck if he can’t help it, the way the blood makes him feel. Poweful and useful. He’s doing good things, he knows he is. And that’s how he justifies drinking it. Even if it’s no better than booze and sex. Actually it’s probably worse.

Sam hates that Dean was right. He’s no better than a junky. But it doesn’t stop him and on some level he knows that should scare him.

If anyone knows they don’t ask or call him out on it, and for that he’s thankful. He thinks if they do know and they say nothing it’s because they’ve got their own secrets to keep and as long as he doesn’t pry they don’t either. Sam thinks it’s a good thing they’ve got going. He stays out of their way and they out of his, and whenever they ask for his help or if he’d like to come along, he goes and if he’s hopped up on demon blood no one says a thing.

The demon blood has made him a much better hunter, he reasons, which is why he hasn’t stopped yet. He doesn’t let it consume him the way it did in the past and he has control over it and how much he drinks. He tries to ignore the fact he’s been draining two demons instead of one lately. He has the control here, not the other way around. He can stop any time he wants. He can.

It’s a month later, sometime in July, when he catches wind of a hunt. It sounds normal enough and he would have passed it up, given it to another Hunter, if it weren’t for the claims that she’d gone crazy. Screaming and clawing at herself, telling anyone who’d listen to ‘get him out of her’. Now that, that is right up his alley. It sounds like a ghostly possession and he hasn’t dealt with something ‘normal’ for awhile now. It’s kind of exciting really. Aside from his ‘demon’ trips he hasn’t gone on a real, solid hunt on his own for some time and he’s eager to get back to it.

He tells Samuel he’s got a hunt and he’s heading out in the morning, the older man just nods and tells him to be careful and call for backup if he needs it, no matter how far away he is and to sit tight if he does. It reminds him of Dean sometimes, and he just smiles a little and nods.

The next morning at the crack of dawn the Impala’s gassed up and ready to go, and with demon blood and an arsenal of weaponry restocked Sam heads out for Greenvile, South Carolina.

‡ ‡ ‡

It’s somewhere near four in the morning when the Impala rolls in and Sam stops at the nearest motel, buys a room for the next few days and heads to bed. He’s got his work cut out for him doing this alone and knows he’ll need all the sleep he can get. He’d done some digging around on his last pitstop at a diner despite the shitty internet connection there and found claims that the woman, Mrs. Sherry Salvador, had been keeping her stepson locked up without food. If the kid was dead, like Sam suspected, then that would be the ghost problem right there. But he won’t know until he starts the investigation in the morning.

Sam gets up around noon and dresses in a full suit despite the sweltering temperature that has his shirt already sticking to his back when he puts the blazer on and grabs his gear, locking the door behind him on the way out. He tosses the bag into the back of the Impala before getting in.

He heads to the diner not a block away to grab some lunch and hit up the locals for information about the case he’s on, flashing his badge quickly to any one who asks for identification. He gets a few weird looks but it’s not that big of a town so he thinks nothing of it. He thanks the waitress when he’s finished, tipping her graciously and heads out to find the first witness, an older woman by the name of Mrs. Gilstead who first reported the strange happenings at the Salvador household.

That turns out to be a bust as she doesn’t remember much anymore, about anything it seems, but Sam keeps it short and polite. The grandson that lives with her told him that Mrs. Salvador was weird and never let her stepson, David, out of the house. Ever. The kid says he’s only seen David once and that was when the woman was ushering him from the car to the house a few months back and says he hardly recognized him for how skinny the kid looked. Sam thanks them for their time and heads out, crossing her name off his list and driving to the next.

Sam’s halfway through his list of names when he realizes this is going nowhere fast, not that the list was all that long to begin with in such a small, closed community like this. He hadn’t thought it would be this difficult, never has been before. He’s beginning to suspect there might be something amiss but he’s not quite sure what it is just yet. Well, whatever, he’s got a few more houses to hit up before calling it a day.

The last house proves to be well worth the wait when the woman at the door, Mrs. Hattfield - a nice middle-aged woman, says she remembers the Salvadors and how tragic it was what happened to poor little David, the woman’s step-son.

“And you said you were ..?” She asks, watching him speculatively.

Sam pulls out his badge and flips it open, “Agent Perry, with the FBI, ma’am.”

She seemed to relax at that, “Yeah, it was a shame what happened to that poor boy. I don’t know how anyone could just starve a kid like that and then .. bury them in their basement.” She says, shivering in repulsion and shaking her head sadly.

His brow rose at the information. “So .. it’s been taken care of?” He asks, unsure, then looks down at his small pad of notes, seeing nowhere in there that the case had been solved.

“This isn’t a follow up?” Mrs. Hattfield asks in confusion.

“Uh, no ma’am. I mean, it’s not supposed to be?” Boy doesn’t he feel like a fool. Was his information wrong? Had another hunter gotten here first? He hadn’t thought anyone was going to be on the case except him. “Well, apparently I hadn’t been completely informed ..” He mutters a little, then smiles sweetly at the older woman.

“Mind if I get the name of the Agent in charge? I’ll need to speak to him at some point to get this all cleared up on my end.”

“Oh of course, his name was .. Agent Young I think? Nice young man, very charming.” She says, smiling a little at the memory.

Sam stills, pen digging in to the notepad as he writes the name. “Agent .. Young?” He asks, an odd sense of dread filling him. No .. no no it has to be a coincidence. They used a multitude of fake names and sure, one of them just might be real .. but he doesn’t think so. “Could you excuse me a moment?”

He then hustles down to the Impala parked along the curb in front of the woman’s house and wrenching open the door he crawled in and pulled open the lid to the center console where they--he kept the stash of fake ID’s. He flips through them until he finds the one he’s looking for. FBI, Agent Young. It’s one of Dean’s old IDs, a younger handsome version of his brother laminated across the front. “It can’t be ..”

Getting out the car he jogs back up the walkway to the front door again and holds up the badge for the woman to see, praying it was just a coincidence in names. “Is this the Agent Young you met?”

Mrs. Hattfield leans in to look closely at the ID before humming in confirmation as she nods. “Yep, that’s him. A little older now though but just as handsome.” She says fondly and it makes his stomach plummet.

Dean.

“Oh there was another agent with him too. I don’t recall his name but he was polite and very quiet.” She recalls, pausing in thought before nodding. “Mhmm.”

“Another ..” Sam pauses a moment and then continues as it starts to click together. “Was he about this tall, short dark hair, really blue eyes and wore a tan trenchcoat?”

The woman nods almost immediately. “Yes, that’s him. Nice young man, they seemed to get along really well. It’s sad what happend to those kids, being taken away from their home like that. But Mr. Young assured me they’d be taken care of, their grandparents I think took them in. Poor things hadn’t even known what was going on in their own home.”

Sam just nods. He has to get out of here, suddenly this small town feels much too confining. “Well, thank you very much for your cooperation.” He says, then departs and rushes down the walkway to the Impala, nearly throwing himself inside and peeling away from the curb.

He gets back to the motel, slams the thin door closed behind him and begins pacing. His heart aches in his chest at the thought that Dean’s alive. Various thoughts run through his head. Maybe it’s not Dean but a shifter .. not like it’s never happened before, but he scratches the idea immediately. If Castiel was with him then he’d know whether or not it was the real Dean, just like he knew before and if it was a shifter then there was no reason for Castiel to keep it alive. And secondly, since when did shifters actually help people?

But that’s not really what needles him.

Dean is alive and Castiel knew, all this time and for how long. And neither bothered to contact him. Sam thinks that might actually hurt worse than losing his brother in the first damn place.

“Son of a bitch!”


End file.
